Seven minutes to forever

8 Shadows in the Office

                                       HIS POV

The air in my office was thick with the scent of expensive leather and polished wood. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across the sleek black furniture. My brother sat across from me, fingers tapping against the desk as he waited for me to finish reviewing the documents spread out before me. I preferred to keep things low-key, operating from the shadows while the world outside buzzed with chaos. People in powerful positions often came to me for help, needing money or information, but they could never say they owed me anything. That was the beauty of it all—I was a ghost in their stories, never seen, only felt.

My phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the silence. It was an unknown number, but the urgency in my gut compelled me to answer.

"Hello?" I said, irritation creeping into my tone."Is this the man who can help?" a shaky voice asked on the other end. It was Mr. Sharma."Yes, what do you need?" "I need to find my daughter. I haven't seen her in over twenty-five years. Please, I need to see her one last time. She... she married someone beneath her station. I know it was wrong, but she's my blood. She's all I have left," he pleaded, desperation pouring through the phone.I leaned back in my chair, considering his words. "Why now? Why after all this time?""Because I'm dying," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I need to tell her that I love her, that I'm sorry for everything. I want to give her what little I have left, but I need to see her first. Please, I'll pay you whatever you want."I could feel my brother's eyes on me, an unspoken question lingering in the air. I hated the vulnerability in Mr. Sharma's voice, but it also sparked a twisted curiosity within me. This man had lost his daughter because of his own ego, and now he wanted to right his wrongs."Fine. I'll send my people to find her," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. "But I want everything you have to offer—money, secrets, whatever. This is not a charity.""Anything. Just please," he begged."Consider it done." I ended the call, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Why are you wasting time on him?" my brother asked, his skepticism palpable. "This isn't like you.""Because he seems desperate enough to give us everything we want," I said, leaning forward, a cold determination settling over me. "We need to find his daughter."My brother stood up, his brows furrowing as he prepared to leave. "Alright. I'll get our team on it."

Once he left the room, I turned my gaze to the window, watching the bustle of the street below. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was happening was all part of a larger game. The curse loomed over me like a dark cloud, whispering secrets I was determined to unravel.As I stared out, my thoughts shifted to her. I reached for my phone, dialing one of my contacts who was supposedly working on her case."When the hell will you update me about her?" I snapped as soon as the call connected, my irritation bubbling to the surface."Hey, take it easy, man. I'm working on it," the voice on the other end replied, trying to calm me down. "Working? You're slower than molasses! I need answers, not excuses!" 

Just then, the door swung open, and my best friend strolled in, a cocky grin plastered across his face. "Well, if it isn't my favorite workaholic! You seriously need to take a break from all this," he said, plopping down in the chair across from me."Take a break? From what? My enthralling conversations with shady informants?" I shot back, rolling my eyes.He laughed, leaning back in the chair. "Right, because nothing screams 'fun' like chasing down a girl with a bad taste in men. How about we hit that club we went to a few days ago? You know, the one with the flashing lights and overpriced drinks?""Ah yes, nothing like overpriced drinks to dull the pain of my life choices," I replied sarcastically."Exactly! You might even meet someone who doesn't run away from you in horror," he quipped, raising an eyebrow playfully.I smirked. "You're not exactly the poster child for dating advice, you know.""Hey! I have my charms. Remember last week? I almost got that bartender's number!""Almost? You mean she gave it to you and then ran away when you said you were a 'mystery man'?" I teased."Details, details! It's the effort that counts, my friend," he said, waving his hand dismissively."Sure, if by 'effort' you mean scaring women into thinking you're an escaped circus clown," I countered, chuckling."Just think of it as my unique approach. But seriously, let's go to the club. One night of fun won't kill you—unless you drink too much, in which case I'll make sure to document it for blackmail later," he said, winking.