What keeps the world moving? Love? Certainly not. Hope? Not really. Money? Absolutely, and no one knows it better than the rich upper class elites of India. But money is not the only thing you can earn. In fact, these elites will tell you there is o...
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"This is bullshit." I try to speak as calmly as possible, "We had a deal, Subhash."
Subhash pushes open the door to an empty office at the CBI's offices. Two officers escorted us here from the restaurant, although they didn't dare touch Vihaan, let alone handcuff him.
"A deal where your client admitted to bribing his rival's factory workers to ruin the quality of production." He replies, "A week later, six men die due to a fire at the same factory."
"That's all you've got?" I ask, disbelief etched on my features, "You don't have shit."
"He did this, Samiksha," Subhash looks at me seriously, "You don't know him."
"I don't think I need a lecture from you about how much I know my husband." I seethe. "Besides, I know the likes of Jindal- he doesn't give a damn about some lowly workers in one of his hundred factories. He just wants to stick it to Vihaan."
"And he did. Mr. Randhawa admitted he bribed some factory workers because he never thought it would tie him to the deaths of those other workers at the same land, and now I've got him. And you didn't see it coming."
He's right. I didn't see it coming. The room feels like it's closing in on me. The sound of Subhash's words, the cool, calculated manner in which he lays out the accusation, grates against my composure. The image of Vihaan, always so sure of himself, lingers in the back of my mind. Could he have been reckless enough to make that kind of move?
I won't allow doubt to show. Not here. Not in front of Subhash.
"This isn't over," I snap, crossing my arms tightly, channeling all my fury into defiance. "Jindal's just framing him—he's been gunning for Vihaan since day one."
Subhash leans back casually, almost as if this is just another routine for him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug. "Maybe. But you still have a factory fire and a man who confessed to sabotage."
"That's all circumstantial and I'll prove it."
Subhash shrugs, his nonchalance fueling my frustration. "Good luck with that," he says, voice dripping with condescension. "But I don't think you'll be able to prove much once the press gets hold of this. The Randhawa name won't survive another scandal."
My jaw tightens. He knows exactly what he's doing, turning the screws where it hurts the most. The timing couldn't be worse with the 100-year anniversary looming.
"Don't worry, it'll be over before it can turn into a scandal." I promise him, mirth leaking from my voice. "And it will end with Shivam Jindal in handcuffs for defamation and malicious prosecution." And with that I walk out of the room, not giving him a chance to reply.
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"Did you know about the fire at Jindal's factory?" Paridhi asks my husband, her voice devoid of emotion.
