Baba Ka Dhaba
It was a small restaurant located in Connaught Place, not far from the Sharma Trading Company building, and was open for lunch service.
After Karan called his supervisor to request emergency leave, he brought Surya to this establishment.
The walls were decorated with colorful tapestries and Bollywood movie posters, along with a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Because it was a weekday afternoon, there were not many customers in the restaurant today.
The TV was showing an old film - what appeared to be a classic romantic drama from several decades ago. The picture quality showed its age, with occasional static interference, but the dialogue was clearly audible.
"What would you like to drink?"
Karan's attitude toward Surya had changed remarkably quickly. Just fifteen minutes ago he had been looking down on him with contempt, but now he was obviously trying to play the gracious host now nothing like his previous old facade.
From "get out of my building" to "what would you like to drink" in record time. The power of incriminating evidence was truly impressive.
"I am not old enough to drink alcohol, so a Coke will be fine."
Surya was completely shameless about the situation and did not care whether this was meant as a peace offering or some kind of trap. He felt no need to be polite whatsoever so while he cannot drink he can order something for himself.
He even took the menu that the waiter handed over.
If Karan wanted to play gracious host, Surya was more than happy to play hungry teenager. And he was genuinely hungry, so this worked out perfectly.
The restaurant served typical North Indian fare various kebabs, grilled meats, lassi, soft drinks, and other standard dhaba menu.
Surya ordered some chicken tikka and a Coke, while Karan ordered a beer for himself.
The food and drinks arrived at their table quickly.
Since arriving in this world, Surya had been living on school cafeteria meals and convenience store food due to his poverty, so he had a genuine appetite this time.
Actual restaurant food prepared by someone who knew how to cook properly. This was a rare treat.
He picked up the grilled chicken skewers, added some mint chutney and onions, and ate with obvious enjoyment.
Karan watched Surya's enthusiastic eating style and felt somewhat reassured.
He reminded himself that this was, after all, just some underage kid who might have not seen the world yet it will be a piece of cake to handle him.....or so he thought.
Just a poor teenager who probably got lucky finding some old internet posts. Nothing he could not manage.
After taking a small sip of his beer, he decided to be direct: "Where exactly did you get those documents from kid?"
"First I am not a kid, second From the internet, obviously dumbo"
In the so-called information age, everyone's embarrassing past was preserved in high-definition detail somewhere online.
And in forgotten corners of the internet, you could often find traces of information that might bring either pleasant surprises or devastating shocks.
For Karan, those seemingly insignificant old forum posts had delivered quite a shock indeed. The kind of shock that made your stomach drop and your career flash before your eyes.
"I do not mean that. I mean, who told you where I currently work?"
"Oh, you might not believe this, but the source of that information was Ms. Priya herself. By the way, chicken tikka is really excellent. Mr. Sharma, do not you want to try some?"
"No thank you." Karan's voice was strained, clearly not appreciating Surya's casual tone.
"Oh, then I will have your portion too. Thanks."
Free food was free food. No point letting it go to waste.
Karan did not respond. He loosened his tie and took a large gulp of beer.
Of course he did not believe Surya's ridiculous claim.
What did he mean, information provided by Priya herself? That was impossible, and frankly insulting to his intelligence. Dead people did not provide information. Dead people stayed dead and buried and forgotten.
But what gave him a headache was that this seemingly innocent teenager was proving to be much more difficult to handle than his appearance suggested.
The casual way he delivered obvious lies with such confidence that it even fooled the receptionist indicated this would not be easy to resolve through simple conversation.
"Let me be direct," Karan said after an awkward silence, clearing his throat. "What exactly do you want?"
In Karan's mind, Surya had come to Sharma Trading Company with those photocopied screenshots for only one possible reason - blackmail.
Although the kid had some nerve, Karan figured he could probably handle whatever financial demands a teenage extortionist might make. Teenagers were not exactly known for thinking big or long-term.
Whatever it took, that stack of information in Surya's possession absolutely could not be seen by his colleagues, and definitely could not reach the company president or her daughter.
If the stupid mistake he had made eight years ago became public knowledge, his carefully constructed new life would be completely destroyed.
In this world, some people are born in Rome, while others are born to be beasts of burden.
Karan Sharma believed he fell into the latter category.
He did not come from an impressive family background his parents were small-scale farmers in rural Punjab, growing wheat and mustard on a few acres of inherited land.
Nothing glamorous, nothing prestigious. Just honest work that barely kept food on the table and never built any real wealth.
But fortunately, Karan was someone who believed in hard work.
Always had been.
He believed that perseverance and dedication would eventually pay off. As long as he worked tirelessly and pushed himself beyond normal limits, he would eventually obtain everything he wanted—money, status, respect, and influence.
The classic self-made man narrative. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Work harder than everyone else. Success would follow.
Karan had ambitions and dreams, and he refused to be like most people who simply accepted their circumstances and gave up on advancement.
So what if he had not been born into Rome? So what if social mobility was difficult and class barriers seemed insurmountable?
He had studied relentlessly, staying up until dawn with textbooks and practice exams, desperately seeking opportunities for higher education and professional advancement.
He had worked overtime until the early morning hours, making sure his performance would be noticed and appreciated by senior management.
He had persistently pursued Ms. Trisha Malhotra, the company president's daughter, following her around and even swallowing his pride to win her favor and affection.
Beyond these socially acceptable efforts, he had also done other things that were less convenient to discuss openly.
Things like abandoning a girl to drown alone. Small details like that.
But so what?
There were so many people in this world who could simply coast through life on inherited advantages, and here he was using every available means to climb upward. What was wrong with that approach?
Survival of the fittest, right? The ends justified the means. Winners wrote the history books.