Parineeti Gupta
Sessions Court, Mumbai – 11:42 AM
The smell of old wood, ink-stained files, and anxious breath lingered thick in the courtroom. Parineeti Gupta stood poised, black coat crisp against her white shirt, fingers loosely clasped behind her back. Her gaze never left the judge’s face.
"The court finds the accused not guilty on all charges."
Silence.
A beat later, the gallery erupted — some in gasps, others in quiet murmurs of disbelief. Parineeti remained still. Controlled. The only betrayal of emotion was the faint rise of her chin and a subtle exhale through her nose — the kind she had trained herself to release only when the gavel fell in her client’s favor.
Sixth straight high-profile win.
This one? Especially satisfying.
Ramesh Korgaonkar v. The State.
A loyal employee framed by his own company — accused of leaking trade secrets and embezzling funds. A common corporate betrayal dressed up with fancy accusations and fabricated evidence. Emails. Call logs. Even witness statements, all too clean, too rehearsed.
Most lawyers wouldn’t have caught it.
But Parineeti had.
And she’d destroyed it.
Her weapon? A 36-second audio clip.
A call recorded between two senior executives of the rival firm, joking about how they’d pinned the leak on “that poor idiot Korgaonkar.” A call no one else had known existed.
Because it wasn’t handed over.
It was found.
At 2:19 AM three nights before the final hearing, her laptop pinged — a secure, encrypted file drop. No label. Just coordinates and a familiar note:
“It’s buried under two layers. Don’t share. You’re welcome.”
She’d smiled the second she saw it.
Shaurya.
Only he would send her an illegal audio file with such casual confidence.
She called him five minutes later, and his voice came through, calm and smug as ever.
“You’ll win this one,” he said.
“You’re not supposed to be hacking into corporate servers,” she replied dryly.
“You’re not supposed to take calls at 2 A.M. either, but we all have our flaws.”
Despite herself, she laughed. And thanked him.
He didn’t ask for credit. He never did. That was Shaurya — brilliant, discreet, fiercely loyal. Their bond had started years ago at a family function neither of them wanted to attend. Somewhere between a snide comment about stale samosas and a shared dislike for hypocrisy, they had clicked. Since then, he had become the annoying younger brother she never knew she needed.
Now, as the prosecution team scrambled, red-faced and humiliated, she quietly gathered her case files.
“Ms. Gupta,” a voice called, breathless — one of the legal interns assigned to her. “Do you want us to send the closing statements to the press?”
Parineeti looked over her shoulder. “No. Let them guess how we did it. Makes the next one easier.”
The interns exchanged glances, equal parts admiration and fear. That’s how she liked it.
Outside the courtroom, reporters lined the hallway. Flashes went off like sparks. Microphones stretched toward her.
“Ma’am! Is this a landmark judgment for corporate whistleblowers?”
“Any message for the firms using loopholes to suppress internal dissent?”
Parineeti paused at the top of the stairs, composed and in control.
“It’s not a landmark,” she said, coolly. “It’s a reminder. You can rig a boardroom. You can rig a company. But you can’t rig the law. Not forever.”
And just like that, she walked past the frenzy. No showmanship. No dramatic exits.
She didn’t need drama. She had facts.
And facts always came with sharp edges.
---
Outside, the black SUV waited under the banyan tree. Her father stood beside it, leaning casually with a thermos in one hand and an easy smile tugging at his lips.
Arun Gupta was the only person who could make her let her guard down without even trying.
“Coffee?” he offered, holding it out like a reward.
Parineeti accepted it without a word and took a sip. Dark roast. Just enough sugar. Exactly how she liked it.
“You didn’t even watch the verdict,” she teased.
“I’ve been watching you since you were five and tore apart your school principal for suspending a boy who hadn’t done anything wrong,” Arun replied. “This? This was just a fancier stage.”
Parineeti smirked. “You really think this is fancy?”
“It is when the judge quoted your argument verbatim in the final order,” he said proudly, eyes shining beneath the silver strands of his hair. “You’re making law into a weapon. And you’re terrifying people with it. I couldn’t be prouder.”
She gave a soft laugh and leaned back against the car beside him, letting the sun warm her face for a brief, stolen moment.
But it didn’t last.
Her phone buzzed again. A secure message.
Just a smiley face and a skull emoji.
She chuckled. “Shaurya says hi.”
Arun rolled his eyes. “That boy is either going to become the next cyber security chief of India or burn down the whole internet.”
Parineeti tucked the phone away. “He’s already halfway to both.”
---
And somewhere in her mind, her calendar began screaming.
Three urgent calls. A hearing in Delhi tomorrow. A strategy meeting with the whistleblower task force. Draft reviews pending from two associates. And at least one journalist texting her personal number for a quote she hadn’t agreed to give.
Parineeti didn’t rest — she recalibrated.
In a world where perception was power and power came with sharp claws, she had to be ten steps ahead. Always.
Sleep? Optional.
Mistakes? Unforgivable.
Victory? Non-negotiable.
And this — this was only Monday.
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