𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

| 𝐈𝐈 |

𝟷𝟶:𝟸𝟽 𝙰.𝙼

𝟸𝟷 𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢

𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚑𝚒, 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊

As the weight of the investigation began to settle, Vaibhav motioned to the paramedics standing by. "Let's get the body to the lab. I need the autopsy report as soon as possible," he ordered, his voice firm yet calm.

Ojas, having finished his initial examination of the crime scene, stood up and gave Vaibhav a quick nod. "Rajiv Khanna—this is gonna cause a stir in the political circles. Rajya Sabha member or not, his connections run deep," Ojas remarked, his tone carrying its usual nonchalance but with a hint of gravity.

Vaibhav sighed, glancing at the lifeless form of Rajiv Khanna on the floor. "Yeah, this one is going to get messy. We need to stay ahead of the media frenzy and political pressure."

The paramedics quickly moved in, placing Rajiv’s body carefully into the body bag before securing it onto the stretcher. Ojas turned to Vaibhav, wiping his hands on a cloth he carried for such situations. "Let’s hope the autopsy clears up a few things. Stab wounds are precise, but the motive? That’s where the trail gets murky."

As the paramedics wheeled the body out of the apartment, Vaibhav and Ojas followed them down the narrow hallway. The corridor was still buzzing with murmurs from the neighbors, most of whom had been silently watching the investigation unfold. Some had tears in their eyes, while others whispered about the potential fallout of such a high-profile murder.

Stepping outside, the chilly air hit them once again. Vaibhav could see the swarm of reporters still crowding the main entrance, hungry for details. The paramedics loaded the body into the ambulance while Vaibhav turned to Ojas.

"Accompany the body to the lab. I want the autopsy done by tonight, and I need you to oversee it," Vaibhav said, his voice tight with urgency.

Ojas raised an eyebrow. "You want me to babysit the body now?"

Vaibhav smirked. "Just make sure no one messes with the evidence, alright? We’re dealing with people who have enough influence to complicate things if we’re not careful."

Ojas shrugged. "Fine. But you owe me a coffee, I'm working double shifts."

"Done," Vaibhav replied, watching as Ojas hopped into the ambulance with the paramedics, ensuring everything was in place.

As the vehicle pulled away, Vaibhav lingered for a moment. His mind was already racing through the layers of politics, betrayal, and the cryptic phone call from his brother. Rajiv Khanna's murder wasn’t just another case. It was a game of power, and Vaibhav knew the pieces were already in motion.

The sterile, cool air of the post-mortem office was not a welcomed change from the cold outside. The room was brightly lit, the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off the stainless steel surfaces.

Kshitij Desai, a young and talented surgeon, stood by a table, methodically organizing his tools. He was the quintessential golden boy, his parents' aankhon ka tara. With a demeanor that was both approachable and authoritative, he knew how to charm those around him while maintaining a certain distance. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his sharp features exuded confidence and competence.

Across the room, Veronica Roy was perched on a stool, her vibrant personality almost palpable. A sassy woman who had long rejected the constraints of being a sanskari beti, she carried herself with a confidence that bordered on defiance. Her family had often expressed their disappointment in her choices, but Veronica couldn't care less. She knew her worth and wasn't afraid to flaunt it.