Chapter 21: The Supply Chain
Three months had passed since the blood was scrubbed off the bakery floor.
In prison, power is usually measured by fear. Billa had fear. But Billa was gone, rotting in the dark cells of solitary confinement.
Arjun built something stronger than fear. He built dependency.
The Central Jail had become a finely tuned engine, and Arjun was the mechanic holding the wrench.
It was 10:00 AM. The morning sun slanted through the high windows of the Kitchen Block.
This was Billa's old territory. It used to be a place of shouting, filth, and violence. Now, it was strangely quiet.
Arjun walked in. He didn't bring ten men. He just brought Shiva.
The new Kitchen In-Charge was a lifer named Sarkar. He was a thin, nervous man who was good at making dal but terrible at confrontation. When he saw Arjun, he wiped his hands on his apron and hurried over.
"Arjun Bhai," Sarkar said, his voice trembling slightly. "The... the lunch is on schedule. We are making rice and sambar."
Arjun ignored the menu. He walked to the storage room at the back. He opened a sack of onions. He checked the quality of the rice.
"Good quality," Arjun said, letting the rice grains fall through his fingers. "Basmati fragments. Not the usual ration trash."
"Yes, Bhai," Sarkar nodded. "The new supplier... he is very good."
"I know," Arjun smiled. "Because I am the supplier."
Arjun turned to face Sarkar.
"The government pays thirty rupees per kilo for this rice. I buy it outside for fifteen. I sell it to the jail for twenty-five. The jail saves money. I make a profit. And you..."
Arjun patted Sarkar's cheek gently.
"...you get to cook good food without Billa screaming at you. Everyone wins."
"But Bhai," Sarkar whispered, looking around to see if the guards were listening. "The payments... The Warden is asking for a bigger cut."
"Tell the Warden to check his bank account," Arjun said coldly. "My accountant settled his dues yesterday. If he gets greedy, remind him that I know where he buys his land."
Arjun walked out of the store room.
He didn't just run the bakery anymore. Through Mallesh on the outside, Arjun had hijacked the tenders for the prison's vegetable and grain supply.
He was feeding the very prison that caged him. And he was charging them for the privilege.
Outside the walls, the war against Satya had turned into a ghost hunt.
Satya Constructions was bleeding.
On the highway near Patancheru, a heavy truck carrying ten tons of premium cement meant for Satya's high-rise project rumbled through the night.
Suddenly, two black Scorpios cut it off, forcing it to screech to a halt.
Mallesh stepped out. He wasn't the rough thug he used to be. He wore a clean shirt and sunglasses, mimicking the style of his boss inside.
The truck driver trembled. "Please... take the cash... don't hit me."
"I don't want your cash," Mallesh said, signaling his boys.
They didn't beat the driver. They simply tossed him a bundle of notes—taxi fare to get back to the city.
"Get out," Mallesh ordered.
One of Mallesh's men hopped into the driver's seat. The truck made a U-turn.
It wasn't going to Satya's site. It was going to the site of 'Reddy Builders'—Satya's biggest rival.
Mallesh dialed a number on a burner phone. But he didn't call Arjun. He couldn't. The line was strictly one-way through the bread notes.
He called Nanda's contact—a hawala operator in the Old City.
"The cement is acquired," Mallesh said. "Tell the Auditor to credit the account."
Back in the Bakery Office.
Nanda sat behind a desk that was now piled high with ledgers. He had a real calculator now—a Casio with big buttons—smuggled in via the flour sacks.
"Report," Arjun said, sitting on the edge of the desk.
Nanda tapped the keys rapidly.
"The cement heist netted us three lakhs, Bhai. We sold it to Reddy Builders at a 40% discount. They paid in cash immediately."
"And Satya?"
"Satya had to buy emergency stock at premium market rates to keep his construction going. He lost six lakhs on the deal. Plus the delay penalty."
Arjun nodded. "Good. Keep bleeding him."
Nanda hesitated. He adjusted his taped glasses.
"Bhai, we have a problem. A good problem."
"What?"
"We have too much cash," Nanda whispered. "The cash from the supply contracts, the gambling ring, and the hijacks. It's piling up outside. We can't keep it in mattresses. It's dangerous."
Arjun looked at the ceiling fan spinning lazily.
"Money shouldn't sleep, Nanda. Money needs to work."
"Invest it?"
"Lend it," Arjun said.
He looked at the prison yard outside the window.
"Half the guards in this prison are in debt. The other half want to buy bikes or gold for their daughters' weddings. And the prisoners? They need money for lawyers, for bail, for better food."
Arjun turned to Nanda.
"Open a bank, Nanda. The 'Arjun Credit Society'. We lend to anyone with a badge or a sentence. Interest rate 5% per month. Collateral required."
"Collateral?" Nanda asked. "Prisoners don't have assets."
"They have loyalty," Arjun said darkly. "If a guard owes me money, he looks the other way when I need a favor. If a prisoner owes me money, he becomes my soldier. I don't just want profit, Nanda. I want ownership."
Later that evening, in the barracks.
Arjun sat on his mat, leaning against the wall. A small stack of magazines lay next to him—India Today, Business World, Forbes India.
Shiva watched him flip through the pages. Arjun wasn't reading the articles. He was scanning the advertisements. He was looking at the logos of the big conglomerates.
Tata. Reliance. Birla. Adani.
He was looking for a Sun. A Golden Sun.
He turned a page. Nothing.
He turned another. Nothing.
"Still looking?" Shiva asked quietly.
"Ramu died for that symbol, Shiva," Arjun said, closing the magazine in frustration. "It exists. It's the brand of the people who actually killed my parents. Satya and Rao are just the dogs guarding the gate. The Golden Sun is the house."
"Maybe it's not an Indian company?" Shiva suggested.
"Maybe," Arjun sighed. "Or maybe they are so big they don't need to advertise."
He tossed the magazine aside.
"We wait. The higher we climb, the better the view. Eventually, we'll see it."
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.
It was Head Constable Yadav. The man who had sold them the first phone. He looked nervous.
"Arjun Bhai," Yadav whispered.
"What is it, Yadav? You need another loan? You haven't paid off the last one."
"No, Bhai. It's... it's a message."
"From who?"
"From the Superintendent's office. A visitor request came in."
Arjun frowned. "I don't have visitors. My lawyer came last week."
"It's not a lawyer," Yadav looked around to ensure no one was listening. "It's a woman."
Arjun and Shiva exchanged a look.
"A woman?" Arjun stood up. "Who?"
"She didn't give a name," Yadav said. "She just said... tell him the 'Customer from the Coffee Shop' is here."
Arjun froze.
The Coffee Shop.
Four years ago. The day before the accident. He and his mother had gone to a coffee shop. He remembered the smell of the beans. He remembered a woman sitting at the next table, watching them. He hadn't thought much of it then.
But nobody else knew that detail.
Arjun felt a chill that had nothing to do with the prison air.
"When?" Arjun asked.
"Tomorrow morning. 10:00 AM. General visitation."
Arjun stared at the bars of his cell.
"Shiva," Arjun said softly.
"I'm ready," Shiva cracked his knuckles.
"No violence tomorrow," Arjun said, his mind racing. "Tomorrow, we listen. Someone from the past has just walked back into the frame."
The mystery of the Golden Sun was a locked door. And it seemed someone had just arrived with a key.