The courtroom buzzed faintly as people filed into their seats. Journalists hovered at the back, whispering, notebooks ready. The judge’s bench loomed ahead, majestic and severe. It was a day the press had circled in red ink.
Parineeti adjusted her robe calmly, standing near her table. Vikram sat behind her, expression sharp and unreadable, Vyom beside him like a shadow. On the opposite end, Ivan Petrov—sleek, ruthless, and coiled like a panther—smirked over his notes.
The judge entered.
“All rise.”
The hearing began.
---
Petrov struck first.
He stood, oozing confidence. “Your Honour, today we intend to show that Singhania Industries is intimately tied to the shell company operating under the name Meridian Holdings, registered in Mauritius. Financial trails, transactions, and documentation submitted to this court will reveal a deliberate attempt to funnel black money through offshore accounts.”
He walked, slow and deliberate. “In the affidavit submitted, Exhibit 22-B shows an email from the CFO of Singhania Industries, dated November 18th last year, referencing ‘offshore restructuring for tax optimization.’ We believe this restructuring was a cover for laundering funds.”
Murmurs spread.
Petrov turned toward Parineeti. “And if I may say, with all due respect, Miss Gupta has failed to adequately explain how a company of this magnitude remained unaware of such suspicious operations within its finance wing.”
The judge looked toward Parineeti. “Your response, Counsel?”
---
Parineeti stepped forward. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.
“Your Honour, if I may address the accusation with clarity rather than theatrics…”
She picked up a folder from her table and walked to the center.
“Exhibit 22-B that Mr. Petrov mentioned was conveniently taken out of context. The email does reference ‘offshore restructuring’—but the entire chain reveals it was in reference to a proposed merger with a UK-based logistics firm, a deal that never went through.”
She held up another document. “Exhibit 22-C. The due diligence report. Same chain. Same date.”
The judge reviewed it as the courtroom hushed.
She continued. “Furthermore, Your Honour, the finance head in question—Mr. Ajay Talwar—resigned two weeks after the board raised concerns internally. I submit the board minutes from that session. Page four clearly outlines Vikram Singhania’s directive for an internal audit—before this case ever reached court.”
Petrov scowled.
“But more importantly,” she added, her tone sharper, “my client did not benefit from Meridian Holdings. In fact, we have proof that funds were syphoned out of Singhania Industries without board approval. This was not a collaboration. It was infiltration.”
She placed one final set of documents. “Transaction logs from ICICI Bank, cross-verified by SEBI.”
The judge reviewed the file at length.
Petrov opened his mouth to object, but the judge raised a hand. “Enough, Mr. Petrov. Miss Gupta, continue.”
---
Parineeti closed with quiet force.
“Your Honour, the narrative of corporate greed makes for good headlines—but in this case, it’s a scapegoat for a deeper rot. Singhania Industries is not the perpetrator here. It’s the victim of financial manipulation—and we intend to prove that, beyond doubt.”
She returned to her seat. Vikram leaned slightly forward, voice low but firm.
“Well done.”
She gave him a brief nod. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes gleamed.
---
The judge closed the day’s session.
“Due to the complexity of documents submitted, this court will reconvene for further examination on Thursday. Until then, no public statements will be permitted by either party. Court adjourned.”
The gavel came down.
---
As the gavel struck and the courtroom dispersed into murmurs, Parineeti packed her files with quiet precision, eyes avoiding Vikram’s. The hearing had gone well—she had handled Petrov's arguments with composed brilliance—but her mind was elsewhere.
Without waiting for Vikram or informing him, she slipped out through the side exit of the court, her phone already dialing.
“Aaryan?” she said as he picked up. “Where are you?”
“Lobby. I figured you’d want coffee after dealing with that Russian bulldog.”
She smiled faintly. “You figured right.”
By the time Vikram turned around from a brief conversation with Vyom, she was already gone.
He frowned. “Where’s Parineeti?”
Vyom shrugged. “She was right behind us a moment ago.”
Before Vikram could dwell, his phone buzzed. A name flashed across the screen, still saved under its full title.
Justice Leela Gupta
His jaw tightened. He walked a few steps away, answering with his usual calm.
“Justice Gupta.”
“I heard about the hearing,” came her voice, even and clipped. “Impressive performance from your legal counsel. But I assume you’re not calling her that outside courtrooms, Mr. Singhania.”
Vikram’s silence was telling. She continued, voice laced with controlled warning, “I may have stepped away from active courtrooms, but I haven’t stepped away from protecting my daughter. She doesn’t need complications.”
“She’s not a complication to me,” Vikram said, his tone low and respectful, but with that cool weight of unreadable emotion.
“Then don’t treat her like one,” Leela replied sharply. “You’re a man who deals in calculated risks. She’s not one of them.”
A beat.
Then Vikram’s voice, soft—almost too calm: “You’re right, Justice Gupta. She’s not a risk. She’s the only thing I’ve never calculated.”
There was silence on the other end. Then a quiet, almost imperceptible exhale.
“Good day, Mr. Singhania.”
Click.
Vikram stared at the screen, then slipped the phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable as always—but his eyes? His eyes held something darker, deeper.
A decision already made.
---
Parineeti barely touched her croissant.
Across the table at the exclusive L’Opaline Club, Aaryan was watching her with a flicker of mischief beneath his practiced charm. The café, nestled deep within the club’s oak-paneled lounge, was near empty, its privacy guarded by old money and reputation. No paparazzi dared venture in here.
“You’ve stirred up quite the frenzy out there,” he said, sipping his espresso. “Our legal queen has half the city obsessing over every courtroom sigh and statement.”
Parineeti arched a brow. “You brought me here for coffee or flattery, Aaryan?”
“Coffee,” he said, smoothly, pushing a cappuccino toward her. “Flattery is complimentary.”
She gave him a wry smile, finally taking a sip.
Then, without preamble, he added, “And business. We have a lead on the Russians. A contact who’s seen more than most. But he’s… particular.”
Her fingers paused mid-air. “Particular how?”
“He doesn’t meet anyone unless he senses the right blood. The right intentions. And you’ve somehow earned Vikram’s trust. That’s more than enough to buy you a seat at the table.”
She set her cup down. “This isn’t some vague conspiracy, Aaryan. If you’re wasting my time—”
“You think I’d risk that?” he interrupted, all playfulness gone. “This man—he knows everything about the Russians. How deep their roots run. How far they’ll go to stay hidden. And he’s family.”
Parineeti’s brows furrowed. “Yours?”
“Not exactly,” Aaryan murmured. “Ours.”
---
They didn’t take the main roads.
Aaryan drove them beyond the familiar folds of the city—past steel and glass into a quieter, older world where mist lingered longer, and silence felt ancestral. The car climbed a stone-lined path to an ancient haveli, wrapped in ivy and mystery. No guards, no security cameras—just a massive iron gate that creaked open like a sigh.
“He lives alone?” Parineeti asked as they approached.
“He lives above,” Aaryan replied cryptically.
Inside, the haveli breathed old power. Dust danced in beams of golden sunlight piercing stained-glass windows. Wooden stairs groaned like they remembered secrets. The smell of aged paper and spiced incense clung to the air.
They were led into a vaulted study by a man in all black, silent as a shadow. There, near the fireplace, sat a figure.
He was dressed in a charcoal bandhgala, posture regal despite the cane at his side. His face was aged like fine leather, but the eyes—sharp, silver, unreadable—were frighteningly alert.
Parineeti instinctively straightened. He gestured toward the chairs before him.
“Sit,” the man said simply. “Let us have coffee before truth.”
Servants arrived soundlessly, setting down cups of dark, steaming brew. Parineeti noticed his untouched cup already waiting—like he had anticipated them long before they arrived.
“Advocate Gupta,” he said, not asking but affirming. “Your name means fire. I hope that’s more than just poetic irony.”
Parineeti didn’t flinch. “I burn what stands in the way of truth.”
A rare smirk curved at his lips. “Good.”
Then he looked to Aaryan. “She knows nothing yet?”
“She’s here to know everything,” Aaryan replied.
The man leaned forward, swirling his coffee. “The Russians were never just competitors. They were always infiltrators. Always pretending to do business while planting rot.”
Parineeti leaned in. “What kind of business?”
“Arms. Data. Influence. And something darker. Children. Networks masked by legitimate imports. They corrupted what they couldn’t control.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And how does the Singhania name come into this?”
His gaze darkened. “We let them in once. Trusted them. Your client’s grandfather, Rajveer’s father—he signed off on a logistics treaty with them in 1976. One year later, he died of a sudden illness. They called it heart failure. But we knew. We’d used the same toxin in ‘78's during border clean-up operations.”
Parineeti’s breath hitched. “You mean they killed him?”
“They silenced him,” the man corrected. “Because he discovered they were moving more than goods. He was going to revoke the partnership. They ensured he wouldn’t.”
A heavy silence fell.
“And Vikram knows?” she asked quietly.
“Everything. He’s been building a counter—carefully. Quietly. But soon, Advocate Gupta, he will need more than silence and strategy. He’ll need fire.”
The words hung between them like prophecy.
Parineeti sat straighter. “And that’s why I’m here.”
The old man looked at her, truly looked, for the first time.
“No,” he said. “You’re here because when the last war ended, we didn’t realize another had begun. This time, we can’t afford to lose.”
He rose slowly, his cane tapping with weight. “Welcome to the war, Parineeti Gupta. It’s not fought in boardrooms anymore. It’s fought in truths. In shadows. And in the courtroom.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and vanished into the inner corridor.
---
The sun had dipped low, casting burnt-orange streaks across the windshield as Aaryan navigated them through the winding outskirts. The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was thick. Weighted. Like both were still unwrapping the layers of what had just happened.
Parineeti stared out the window, one finger absently tracing the fog on the glass. Her thoughts were a whirlwind: Russians, enmity, legacy, betrayal that spanned generations. And that man. That sharp-eyed, ageless presence who spoke like a general and observed like a chess master.
“I wasn’t expecting him,” she finally said, her voice low but firm.
“No one ever does,” Aaryan replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “He built the foundation Vikram and I now walk on. Including the traps.”
“You trust him?”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “I respect him. Trust?” A pause. “Only Vikram gets that luxury. And even he keeps a safe distance.”
Parineeti turned toward him. “He was testing me.”
Aaryan nodded. “Everyone is, Parineeti. In our world, tests are constant. So are consequences.”
She frowned. “You sound jaded.”
“I sound prepared.” He glanced at her, expression unreadable. “You need to be too.”
The car dipped into the bustle of the city again, skyscrapers replacing ancient trees, the buzz of life a contrast to the eerie stillness they’d left behind. Parineeti crossed her arms.
“Why didn’t you tell Vikram you were taking me?”
Aaryan’s jaw ticked. “Because he would’ve stopped it.”
“You lied to your brother.”
“I withheld… like he often does. He doesn't tell me everything. Or Shaurya. He carries burdens in silence, Parineeti. And someday, they’ll break him.”
She looked down at her hands. “Maybe that’s why he needs people who don’t worship him. Who’ll push back. Challenge him.”
Aaryan laughed softly. “Is that your plan? Save Vikram Singhania from himself?”
“I don’t need plans,” she said coolly. “I have purpose.”
The words surprised even her. But they rang true.
He stole a sideways glance at her. “You're stronger than I thought.”
Parineeti gave a half-smile. “I’m just getting started.”
---
They pulled up in front of the Gupta residence, the headlights cutting through the quiet lane. The engine hummed a low final note before Aaryan shifted it into park.
Parineeti reached for the door handle.
“Parineeti,” Aaryan said, his voice unusually gentle.
She paused, hand still on the metal, turning to face him.
His eyes weren’t mocking or teasing now. They were… haunted.
“Vikram isn’t just powerful,” Aaryan murmured. “He’s survived things that would’ve destroyed most. He doesn’t bleed easily. But the scars… they never really faded.”
Parineeti’s brows pulled together slightly, her breath hitching. “I know he’s guarded—”
“I’m not talking about guarded,” Aaryan cut in quietly. “I’m talking about wounds stitched shut in silence. Some of them were caused by people he trusted. Some by choices he made to protect them.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting toward the sky. “You’ll want to understand him. You’ll want to know why he does the things he does. But Parineeti…”
His gaze returned to her, dark and steady.
“Don’t dig too deep unless you’re ready to carry what you find. Because if you unearth something he’s buried—he may never forgive himself for letting you close enough to see it.”
The silence sat between them like a final breath.
Then he gave her a smile. Not teasing. Not charming. Just quietly sad.
“Goodnight, counsel.”
Parineeti stepped out of the car, heart heavier than when she’d gotten in.
As Aaryan drove away, she stood there under the porch light, feeling the chill of truths unspoken—and questions that might be better left unanswered.
---
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