The message had arrived at 2:47 in the morning. Neeraj had read it a dozen times since then, each reading deepening the cold dread that had settled in his chest. He had not slept. He had sat in his office, the city lights flickering through the window, the phone glowing in his hand like a live grenade.
He had tried to trace the number. It was a burner, untraceable, the kind that was bought with cash and discarded after a single use. He had tried to call it back. It went straight to a dead line. Whoever had sent the message had no intention of being found.
But the words had found him.
"I am writing a book. About you. About everything you did."
Neeraj had spent the night replaying his actions over the past months. The threats, the manipulation, the surveillance. He had done all of it, and he had done it without hesitation. He had justified it as necessary, as the price of justice. But now, someone was going to expose it all, to lay his sins bare for the world to judge.
He called Mira at dawn. She answered on the first ring, her voice alert despite the early hour.
"I need to see you," he said. "Now."
She arrived at his office within the hour. Her face was pale, her eyes sharp with concern. "What happened?"
He showed her the message. She read it in silence, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Who sent it?" she asked.
"I do not know. I traced the number. It is a burner."
Mira sat down, her expression troubled. "This could be anyone. Ravi's associates. Seth's network. Even someone we have never met. You have made a lot of enemies, Neeraj."
"I know."
"But it could also be a bluff. Someone trying to scare you, to make you pay for what you did. If they actually had a book, they would not threaten you with it. They would just publish it."
"Unless they want something," Neeraj said. "Unless they want me to stop them."
Mira nodded slowly. "What are you going to do?"
"I am going to find out who sent this. And I am going to stop them."
Neeraj called Ramesh and gave him the burner number. "Trace it. Find out who bought it. Find out who used it. I need answers."
Ramesh agreed, but his voice was cautious. "This could take time, Neeraj. Burners are designed to be untraceable. If this person knows what they are doing, they will have covered their tracks."
"Then find someone who can uncover them," Neeraj said. "I do not care what it costs."
The days that followed were a blur of anxiety and frustration. Ramesh's contacts came up empty. The burner had been purchased from a small shop in the old city, and the shopkeeper remembered nothing. The phone had been used only once, to send the message, and then discarded.
Neeraj tried to put it out of his mind, to focus on his practice, on the cases that still demanded his attention. But the threat loomed over him, a shadow that darkened every moment.
A week later, he received another message. This time, it was an email, sent to his personal account from a new address.
"Dear Advocate Verma,
I am the person who sent you the message. I am writing a book about the Malik case, and I would like to interview you. I think it is only fair that you have a chance to tell your side of the story.
I am not your enemy. I am a journalist, and I am interested in the truth. I know you did things that were questionable. But I also know you did them for a reason. I would like to understand that reason.
If you are interested, please meet me at the old café in the southern quarter. Tomorrow, at noon.
Yours sincerely, A.R."
Neeraj read the email three times. A journalist. Someone who claimed to want the truth. But who was A.R.? And what did they really want?
He called Mira. "I am going to meet this person. I need you to come with me."
"Why me?"
"Because you know the journalistic world. You can tell me if this person is legit. And if they are not, you can help me figure out what they are really after."
Mira agreed. They met the next day at the old café, the same neutral ground where Neeraj had met Aruna and Kavita. The café was quiet, the tables mostly empty. A woman in her late forties was sitting in the corner, a notebook open in front of her, a cup of coffee growing cold.
She stood when they approached. She was tall, with sharp features and intelligent eyes. She wore a simple linen dress and no jewelry. Her smile was warm but cautious.
"Advocate Verma," she said. "I am Aasha Ray. Thank you for coming."
Neeraj sat down across from her. Mira sat beside him, her eyes fixed on the woman's face.
"Who are you?" Neeraj asked. "And why should I trust you?"
Aasha Ray smiled. "I am a freelance journalist. I have written for several major publications, though I prefer to work independently. I have been following the Malik case for months. I have interviewed many of the people involved. And I have become interested in your story."
"My story?" Neeraj asked, his voice guarded.
"I know about the locker room," she said. "I know about the bullying, the humiliation, the years of silence. I know that you used those experiences to drive your career, to make yourself into a man who could never be victimized again. And I know that you crossed lines to bring Ravi Malik to justice."
Neeraj felt the familiar cold knot form in his stomach. "What exactly do you know?"
Aasha leaned forward. "I know about the listening device in Ravi's study. I know about the threats you made to his family. I know about the manipulation of Sanjay Bhan and the coercion of Parvati. I know about the fake tape you gave Ravi, the one that was empty. And I know about the night you planted a device in Vikram Seth's safe house."
Neeraj said nothing. His face was a mask of calm, but inside, his heart was racing.
"I am not here to expose you," Aasha continued. "I am here to understand you. The Malik case is a fascinating study in the limits of justice. You were a victim who became a victor. But you became something else too. You became a man willing to break the rules to achieve his goals. I want to explore that transformation."
"And if I refuse to participate?"
"Then I will write the book without you," Aasha said. "I have enough material. But I would rather have your voice in it. I would rather give you the chance to tell your side."
Neeraj looked at Mira. She nodded almost imperceptibly, a signal that she thought the woman was genuine.
"Let me think about it," Neeraj said. "Give me a few days."
Aasha nodded. "I will wait. Take all the time you need."
They left the café and drove back to Neeraj's office. Mira was quiet, her expression thoughtful.
"She is legit," Mira said finally. "I have heard of her. She writes long-form journalism, the kind that takes years to produce. She is not a sensationalist. She is a serious investigator."
"That is what I am afraid of," Neeraj said. "A serious investigator will not let me control the narrative. She will dig until she finds the truth, and the truth will destroy me."
"Or it will set you free," Mira said. "You have been carrying this guilt for months. Maybe it is time to let it out. Maybe it is time to face what you did and accept it."
Neeraj shook his head. "I cannot. If the world knows what I did, everything I have built will be destroyed."
"Then build something else," Mira said. "You are a good man, Neeraj. You made mistakes. But you also did good. The world is not as unforgiving as you think."
Neeraj sat in his office, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that he could confess his sins and still be accepted. But the fear was too strong, the doubt too deep.
That night, he received another message. This time, it was a text from the original burner number.
"I know you met Aasha. I know you are considering participating in her book. Do not. If you do, I will release everything I have. Your secrets, your lies, your manipulations. I will destroy you."
Neeraj stared at the screen, his blood cold. Someone was watching him. Someone knew his every move. And they were threatening him.
He called Ramesh. "I need a security sweep of my office. My car. My phone. Everything. Someone is monitoring me."
Ramesh arrived within the hour. He scanned the office, the phones, the computers. He found nothing. But Neeraj did not feel reassured. Whoever was threatening him was smart. They were careful. They were not going to be caught easily.
He spent the night in his office, the lights on, his phone in his hand. He thought about Aasha Ray, about her offer to tell his side of the story. He thought about the threats, the secrets, the lies. He thought about the boy in the locker, the man he had become.
And he made a decision.
The next morning, he called Aasha Ray. "I will participate in your book. But I have one condition. We do not publish until I am ready. I need to control the timing."
Aasha agreed. "I understand. We will work on your schedule."
Neeraj hung up and sat in the silence. He had taken a risk, a huge risk. But he felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted.
But as he looked at his phone, he saw another message from the unknown number.
"Good choice, Neeraj. I will be watching."
He smiled, a cold, hard smile. Whoever was threatening him had just made a mistake. They had shown their hand, revealed that they were scared of the book, scared of the truth.
And now Neeraj was going to find them.
He called Ramesh. "I have a new lead. The threats are coming from someone who is afraid of the book. Someone who does not want me to tell the truth. Find out who that person is."
The game was not over.
It had just entered a new phase.
No comments yet. Be the first to comment!