"Morning, Old Bardd!" Rowton shouted towards a man in his fifties.
Bard Dalka, a sergeant nearing retirement in a few years, responded.
If Rowton didn't have any big aspirations, he could just stay in his current position. The most he could hope for was to become sheriff before he retired—and even that seemed unlikely.
Bard was a senior figure at the station, with years of experience in solving cases. As a result, the chief and other high-ranking officials trusted him with the more complicated tasks. However, he never put on airs with the officers below him.
Yet, Bard did see Rowton in a slightly different light. He knew Rowton was someone who was actively working on improving himself—attending an open university and even aiming to participate in the Bonkao (a professional examination). To Bard, Rowton was a motivated, ambitious young man, which was rare among the others at the station. Most officers were content with their current status, never thinking about moving up the ranks.
Because of this, Bard often looked out for Rowton, and their relationship was naturally a good one.
"What are they talking about?" Rowton asked, noticing a group of officers gathered in a corner, talking and laughing.
"Nothing important," Bard scoffed. "They're probably gossiping about how many gifts they've given the Secretary in various forms. These guys would rather cheat their way through than actually do their jobs. Sigh, kid, you need to get ready for your promotion. Even though your chances are slim, the director values you. I think there's still a shot. I mean, the Secretary likes you too."
"Old Bard, you're saying they're crooked?" Rowton asked, feeling speechless.
Right now, he had nothing to offer. His pockets were empty, and his sleeves were clean—he had no money.
In addition to earning merits, Rowton realized he would need to find a way to get some money. Without money, many things were simply impossible.
Not to mention, he didn't want to stay in the slums forever. He needed money to move out of there.
"There's nothing you can do in this environment, even if the Secretary is optimistic about you. Look at the competition—it's fierce," Bard sighed. "If I hadn't been so stubborn when I was young, if I had worked harder on my relationships with the higher-ups, I might have moved up the ranks myself."
From sheriff to assistant deputy inspector, it was a big jump.
The assistant deputy inspector was the lowest level of management at the police station. Once an officer reached that rank, their status changed completely, while a sheriff remained at the police officer level.
"But don't be discouraged, Rowton," Bard continued. "Even if you don't get promoted this time, I'm sure you'll pass the exam in the future. By then..." Bard's eyes gleamed with excitement. "You could be at the inspector level. Who knows, maybe if I, old Bard, can say I have a friend in the director's office, how amazing would that be?"
"Director!" someone suddenly shouted.
Rowton turned towards the gate and saw Yada Agawar, the director of the Spanda Police Department, stepping out.
"Director's here this early?" Rowton whispered to Bard as the other officers quickly stood to attention.
"Yeah, who'd have thought?" Bard chuckled. "Must be something big going on."
Rowton nodded slightly, agreeing. It was strange for Yada to be this early unless something important was happening. But after searching his memory, Rowton couldn't think of any major events or cases scheduled for the Spanda Police Department in the coming days.
"Is Singh here yet?" Yada asked, his voice a little impatient.
"Secretary, the deputy director hasn't arrived yet," one of the sheriffs replied.
It wasn't just Singh who hadn't shown up—none of the other inspector-level officers had arrived by nine. As the leader, Yada was left to hold the fort.
Yada sighed, then turned to Rowton. "Rowton, I need you for a translation. Come with me."
"Yes, Secretary!" Rowton immediately responded.
With a mix of envy and curiosity from the other officers, Rowton followed Yada as he walked out.
For these officers, Rowton's fluency in English was something to be envious of. The director often asked Rowton to handle English-related matters, which made him a frequent presence around the higher-ups. Unfortunately, not many of the other officers could do the same. Despite understanding the importance of English, none of them seemed motivated enough to study it.
But Rowton had prepared for this. He had worked hard to make himself valuable.
Rowton climbed into the co-pilot seat of the car. Although Yada was the director, he wasn't at the level to have his own official vehicle. This was a police car used for missions or official outings.
Once inside, Rowton remained silent but stole glances at Yada through the rearview mirror. He could see that Yada looked a little excited, but also slightly worried—his emotions seemed to be at odds.
The car began moving, and although the driver clearly knew where they were headed, Rowton had no idea.
Ten minutes later, Yada spoke up. "Rowton, we're going to meet the Finance Minister, Mr. Rajiti Nair. You need to translate well. No mistakes."
"Yes, Secretary!" Rowton replied, his mind quickly piecing things together. Rajiti Nair was the finance minister of Maharashtra, in charge of the state's finances—definitely a heavy hitter.
Such an important figure would never approach a grassroots police chief like Yada directly. Usually, he'd go through the city bureau director or someone higher up. This made the situation feel a little strange.
No wonder Yada had looked so conflicted earlier.
Being summoned by a big shot like Rajiti Nair usually meant something good. But it could also be a trap—if you couldn't live up to the big guy's expectations, it could easily turn into a disaster.
Rowton thought about Rajiti Nair's reputation. He knew this man well—after all, he'd followed the news closely during his time in Mumbai.
Two years from now, Rajiti would fall from grace, investigated for accepting massive bribes, and eventually sentenced to three years in prison. This was a rare occurrence—India's powerful figures rarely got sentenced.
This wasn't just about corruption; it was a battle between political factions, where enemies used every tactic to take down rivals. In the end, it would be Rajiti's own actions that would lead him to prison.
Still, that was two years down the road. Right now, Rajiti was an influential figure, and Rowton had the chance to meet him face to face.
After passing through a heavy security checkpoint, the car entered a high-end residential area.
They had arrived at Rajiti's residence. This wasn't a public meeting—it was a private summons, held outside of official channels.
Yada seemed unusually restrained here. There was no way around it—his status paled in comparison to Rajiti's.
Rowton, on the other hand, felt more at ease. He didn't have the burden of a large gap in status. All he had to do was follow Yada and translate as needed.
Big shots like Rajiti usually preferred to speak directly in English, without bothering with the local languages like Hindi or Marathi unless they were making a political point or trying to woo voters. {Just think, this is possible!}
Of course, Yada knew this, and despite having Rowton along for the ride, he didn't seem too worried. He had been careful not to bring his deputy director along, knowing that such a big opportunity would likely be kept for the higher-ups.
Still, being summoned by such a figure was a big deal—one that most wouldn't share with others. Why spread the glory around if you didn't have to?