The listening device was a tiny thing, no larger than a grain of rice, its surface coated in a matte polymer that absorbed light and betrayed no reflection. Neeraj had planted it beneath the lip of Ravi's mahogany desk, in the shadow of a carved lion's paw, while his mother had been untied and his attention ostensibly fixed on her trembling form. The operation had taken less than three seconds—a sleight of hand learned from Ramesh, who had learned it from a pickpocket in the Old Kapur bazaar.
Now, in the quiet of his chambers, Neeraj plugged the receiver into his laptop and adjusted the frequency. The signal was clear, a faint hiss of static overlaid with the ambient sounds of Ravi's study—the tick of a grandfather clock, the hum of an air conditioner, the distant bark of a guard dog.
He had been listening for two hours. The first hour had been silence, broken only by the occasional creak of furniture and the rustle of papers. Ravi had been alone, brooding, no doubt replaying the exchange in his mind. The empty U盘 had been a humiliation, a reminder that Neeraj was always three steps ahead.
But now, the silence had broken.
"You are certain the device is clean?"
The voice was unfamiliar, male, with the clipped tones of someone accustomed to giving orders. Neeraj leaned forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
"As certain as I can be," Ravi's voice replied. "The police swept the house this morning. No bugs, no cameras, no trackers. The man is not a spy. He is a lawyer playing games."
"Lawyers can be dangerous. Especially lawyers with grudges."
Ravi laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "The man has a grudge, yes. But he also has a weakness. His mother. I used her once. I can use her again."
"Not advisable. The woman is in a hospital. Too public. Too many witnesses."
"I am not going to touch her. I am going to touch something else. Something he cares about more than his mother."
Neeraj felt his grip tighten on the edge of the desk. What could he care about more than his mother? His career? His reputation? The case itself?
"Explain," the unfamiliar voice said.
"The tape," Ravi said. "The locker room tape. He gave me a fake drive, which means the real one is still out there. I need to find it. I need to destroy it. And I need to do it before the hearing."
"Where is it hidden?"
"I do not know. But I know someone who might. A man named Sanjay Bhan. He was there that day. He made the copy. He gave it to Verma. If anyone knows where the tape is, it is Sanjay."
Neeraj's blood ran cold. Sanjay. He had trusted Sanjay, had believed that the man was on his side. But Sanjay had already been approached by Ravi's people once, and he had folded under the pressure. What would he do if they came again?
"Sanjay Bhan is a coward," Ravi continued. "He will tell us everything we need to know. I have already sent men to his office. By the time we are done with him, he will be singing like a canary."
Neeraj reached for his phone and dialed Sanjay's number. It rang once, twice, three times. Then a recorded voice: "The person you are calling is unavailable. Please try again later."
He tried again. The same result.
He called Ramesh. "I need you to get to Sanjay Bhan's office. Now. Ravi is sending men there. He is going to interrogate Sanjay about the tape."
"On my way," Ramesh said.
Neeraj hung up and stared at his laptop screen. The listening device was still broadcasting, still picking up the sounds of Ravi's study. He heard the clink of a glass, the pouring of liquid, the soft murmur of the unfamiliar voice.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Malik. This man, Verma—he is not like the others. He is not afraid of you. He will not be bought off."
"I know," Ravi said. "That is why I am going to destroy him. Not his career. Not his reputation. Him. Personally. I am going to take everything he loves, everything he has built, and I am going to burn it to the ground."
The unfamiliar voice laughed. "I admire your ambition. But ambition without strategy is just recklessness. What is your plan?"
Ravi was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice low and deliberate.
"Sanjay Bhan is the key. Once I find the tape, I will destroy it. Then I will leak a different tape, a fake one, one that shows Verma attacking my men at the warehouse. I will paint him as a vigilante, a violent thug who is using the court system as a cover for his personal vendetta."
"Will the court believe that?"
"The court will believe what the evidence shows. And I control the evidence. The police commissioner is a friend. The chief justice's nephew is a partner in my father's old business. I have influence, leverage, money. Verma has nothing but a few documents and a dead witness."
"Parvati is not dead."
"No," Ravi said. "But she will be. Soon. My men are tracking her. They will find her, and they will silence her permanently. Without her testimony, Verma's case collapses."
Neeraj felt the cold hand of dread close around his throat. Ravi was going to kill Parvati. He had made the threat, and he meant to carry it out.
He pulled out his phone and called the safe house. Parvati answered on the first ring.
"Listen to me carefully," Neeraj said. "You need to leave the apartment. Now. Go to the basement, take the service exit, and go to the address I am sending you. It is a safe house, another one, more secure. Do not tell anyone where you are going. Not even Mira."
"Advocate Verma, what is happening?"
"Ravi knows you are alive. He knows where you are. He is coming for you. You have to trust me. Go now."
There was a pause, then the sound of movement, the rustle of fabric, the click of a door.
"I am going," Parvati said.
Neeraj hung up and dialed Ramesh again. "Parvati is moving to the secondary location. I need you to pick her up and take her somewhere even safer. Somewhere Ravi cannot find her."
"I am on my way to Sanjay," Ramesh said. "I will not be able to get to Parvati in time."
"Then call Subramanian. He has people. He can protect her."
Ramesh agreed and hung up. Neeraj sat in his office, his heart pounding, his mind racing. He had done everything he could. He had moved Parvati, he had alerted Sanjay, he had planted the listening device. But Ravi was still one step ahead, still moving pieces on the board.
The next hour was the longest of Neeraj's life. He listened to the broadcast from Ravi's study, waiting for any news, any indication that his countermoves had succeeded. The unfamiliar voice had left, and Ravi was alone, pacing, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.
Then, a phone rang.
Ravi answered. "Yes?"
There was a pause. Neeraj could hear the tinny sound of a voice on the other end, but the words were indistinct, muffled by the distance.
"Sanjay is gone?" Ravi's voice rose in anger. "What do you mean, gone?"
Another pause.
"And Parvati? The woman? She is also gone?"
Neeraj felt a surge of relief, sharp and electric. His gambits had worked. Sanjay had been warned, Parvati had been moved. Ravi was losing control.
"You are telling me that both of them have disappeared?" Ravi shouted. "They were right there, and you let them slip away?"
The voice on the other end offered a feeble explanation. Ravi listened, his jaw tight, his face reddening.
"Find them," he said. "Find them both, or you will answer to me."
He slammed down the phone. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, filled with the weight of Ravi's fury. Neeraj listened, his finger hovering over the keyboard, waiting for the next move.
Ravi began to speak, but his voice was softer now, almost a whisper. It took Neeraj a moment to realize that Ravi was not talking to anyone. He was talking to himself.
"He is better than I thought," Ravi murmured. "Smarter. More patient. I underestimated him."
There was a long pause, and then Ravi laughed, a low, bitter sound.
"But I know his weakness. It is not his mother. It is not Parvati. It is his pride. He cannot stand the thought of losing. He cannot stand the thought of being humiliated. That is how I will break him. I will humiliate him in front of the entire country. I will make him a laughingstock."
Neeraj leaned back in his chair. Ravi was plotting something, something grand, something that would play out in the public eye. The hearing was in two days. That was where Ravi would make his move.
But Neeraj was ready. He had the tape, he had the documents, he had the witnesses. He had everything he needed.
Except for one thing.
He did not know what Ravi's plan was.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of preparation. Neeraj reviewed the documents, organized the evidence, drafted his opening statement. He spoke to Mira, who had been tracking the money trail, and to Subramanian, who had arranged for a team of private security to protect Parvati.
At dawn, he drove to the safe house where Parvati was hiding. She was tired but composed, her bruises fading to a sickly yellow-green. She had not slept, but her eyes were clear, her voice steady.
"I will testify," she said. "I am not afraid."
"You should be afraid," Neeraj said. "Ravi is dangerous. He has shown that."
"I know," Parvati said. "But I have seen what happens when good people do nothing. I will not be that person. I will speak the truth, and I will let the truth do the rest."
Neeraj looked at her with something that might have been admiration. She was stronger than he had given her credit for, braver than he could have imagined.
"Thank you," he said.
He left the safe house and drove to the courthouse. The building was already crowded, the media gathered outside, the security guards preparing for the influx of spectators. The hearing was set to begin at ten o'clock, and Neeraj wanted to be early.
He walked into the courtroom and took his seat at the amicus table. The room was empty, the gallery still closed, the judges not yet arrived. He sat in the silence, his briefcase on the table, his mind replaying every detail of the case.
And then the door opened.
Ravi walked in, flanked by his legal team. He was dressed impeccably, his hair combed, his face composed. But there was something different about him, something that Neeraj could not quite identify.
Ravi took his seat at the defendant's table. He did not look at Neeraj. He did not smile. He simply sat, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes fixed on the bench.
The judges entered. The gallery filled. The hearing began.
Neeraj presented his case with precision and clarity. He laid out the evidence, the documents, the financial records. He called Parvati to the stand, and she testified with a calmness that seemed almost superhuman.
Ravi's defense lawyer cross-examined her, trying to shake her testimony, but she held firm. Her story did not waver, her answers did not change.
Neeraj felt a surge of triumph. The case was going his way. Ravi was trapped, cornered, moments away from destruction.
And then Ravi's lawyer stood up.
"Your Lordships," he said. "The defense would like to call a character witness. A man who can speak to the credibility of the amicus curiae."
Neeraj felt the air leave his lungs. Character witness? What character witness?
The lawyer called the name: "Sanjay Bhan."
Neeraj turned. Sanjay was standing in the back of the courtroom, his face pale, his eyes darting nervously. He walked to the stand and took the oath.
"Mr. Bhan," the lawyer began. "You are a former classmate of Advocate Neeraj Verma, are you not?"
"Yes."
"And you have known him for how many years?"
"Since we were children. More than thirty years."
"Mr. Bhan, can you tell the court about Advocate Verma's character? About the kind of man he is?"
Neeraj stood up. "Objection, Your Lordship. This is irrelevant to the case."
The judge overruled him. "Let the witness speak."
Sanjay took a deep breath. His eyes met Neeraj's for a moment, and Neeraj saw something there that he had not expected: guilt.
"Advocate Verma," Sanjay said, "is a man driven by vengeance. He has been planning this case for years, not because he cares about justice, but because he hates Ravi Malik. He hates him for something that happened when they were boys, something that has consumed him ever since."
The courtroom erupted in murmurs. Neeraj felt the floor tilt beneath him.
"Mr. Bhan," the lawyer continued. "Did Advocate Verma ever threaten you? Did he ever pressure you to lie or to fabricate evidence?"
Sanjay hesitated. Then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. He did. He threatened to expose my past if I did not cooperate with him."
The gallery gasped. Neeraj's face went white.
Ravi was smiling. It was that broad, confident smile, the same smile that had tormented him for twenty-nine years.
The game, Neeraj realized, was not over.
It was only beginning.
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