The temple smelled like incense and lies.
Bharat stood in the entrance hall—marble floors so polished they looked like black water, walls carved with gods who'd stopped listening centuries ago. Noon sunlight cut through the high windows in blades of gold, illuminating dust motes that hung in the air like suspended prayers.
He'd been here twelve hours ago.
For a wedding that was a contract.
Now he was back.
With evidence that could end Rajan.
Or get him killed.
His phone buzzed. System:
"TEMPLE DETECTED."
"WARNING: High concentration of 'Harvest Energy' in surrounding area."
"Recommendation: Don't trust anyone who kneels here regularly."
"Survival probability if confrontation occurs: 34%."
"Have fun, proxy."
Bharat pocketed the phone.
Thirty-four percent.
Better than yesterday.
Footsteps.
Behind him.
Ayesha appeared from a side corridor—black jeans, leather jacket, face that looked like it had forgotten how to smile sometime around puberty.
"You're late."
"Traffic."
"Lie better."
She gestured toward the stairs. "Mira's waiting. Third floor. Conference room."
"Conference room? In a temple?"
"It's not a temple." Ayesha's voice was flat. "It's a business that cosplays as one. Now move."
She started walking.
Bharat followed.
"Ayesha—"
"What?"
"Last night. You said you owed Mira everything."
"I did."
"What does that mean?"
She stopped. Turned. Looked at him with eyes that had seen too much and learned to stop asking why.
"It means five years ago, I was on a list."
"Harvest Day."
"Mira got me off it."
Pause.
"Cost her something. Don't know what. Don't ask."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're going into a room full of people who'd sell their mothers for a tax break." Her jaw tightened. "And if you think having that recording makes you safe, you're dumber than you look."
"Then why did she tell me to bring it?"
Ayesha smiled. Cold. Sharp.
"Because Mira doesn't play defense."
"She plays chess."
"And you're a pawn who just became interesting."
She turned. Kept walking.
Bharat stood there, heart doing that trapped-bird thing again.
Then followed.
Because what else was there to do?
The conference room looked like it belonged in a Fortune 500 headquarters.
Not a temple.
Long table. Leather chairs. Wall-sized windows overlooking the city—Mumbai sprawling below like a living circuit board, all light and noise and desperation.
Eight people sat around the table.
Bharat recognized some:
Rajan — End of the table, expensive suit, face like a mask that had learned to smile.Mira — Opposite end, red sari, expression unreadable.Five others — Older. Richer. The kind of people whose names appeared in business sections and police files simultaneously.
Board members.
Temple trustees.
Shareholders in a company that harvested lives.
Mira gestured to an empty chair.
"Sit."
Bharat sat.
Rajan's eyes tracked him like a predator watching prey stumble into a trap.
"So." Rajan's voice was smooth. Professional. "The proxy returns."
"With evidence, I'm told." One of the older men—silver hair, face like expensive leather—leaned forward. "Against me, specifically."
"Not against you, Mr. Kapoor." Mira's voice was ice wrapped in silk. "Against practices that violate our agreement with the city authorities."
"Semantics."
"Law."
Rajan smiled."Let's hear this... evidence."
Bharat pulled out his phone. Set it on the table.
"Forty-seven minutes of recorded conversation."
"From where?"
"The Lotus Club. Two nights ago. You were discussing something called 'Harvest Day.'"
Pause.
The room went very quiet.
The kind of quiet that came before violence.
"That's a private establishment." Rajan's voice was still smooth, but something underneath had shifted—like silk over broken glass. "Recording conversations there is illegal."
"So is conspiracy to commit murder."
"Murder?" Rajan laughed. "Strong word."
"You talked about a list. Twelve names. 'Backup candidates' in case primaries failed screening." Bharat's voice was steady. Surprised him how steady. "One of those names was प्रिया राव."
"Should that mean something to me?"
"It's my mother's name."
Silence.
Rajan stared at him.
Like seeing something for the first time.
Then smiled wider.
"Ah."
"So this is personal."
He stood. Walked around the table—slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world.
"Let me tell you what I think happened."
"You—a desperate man, drowning in medical bills, dying by contract—you broke into my private club."
"Recorded a conversation you didn't understand."
"And now you're here, trying to blackmail your way into... what? Saving your mother?"
He stopped beside Bharat's chair. Leaned down.
Close enough Bharat could smell his cologne.
Expensive. Dark.
"That recording is inadmissible. Illegally obtained. Worth less than the phone it's stored on."
"But—"
Rajan's hand moved—fast, viper-quick—and plucked the phone off the table.
"This?"
He held it up.
"This is evidence of trespassing. Breaking and entering. Corporate espionage."
Turned to the board.
"I move we search Mr. Rao. Ensure he hasn't stolen anything else from temple property."
Bharat's stomach dropped.
"That's not—"
"Seconded." Mr. Kapoor's voice was bored. Like this was a routine business matter.
"All in favor?"
Six hands rose.
Mira's stayed down.
"Motion passes." Rajan smiled. "Mr. Rao, if you'd be so kind as to empty your pockets."
"You can't—"
"We can." Rajan's voice went cold. "This is private property. Temple grounds. We have authority to ensure nothing sacred has been... misappropriated."
"Bharat." Mira's voice. Calm. "Do it."
He looked at her.
She met his eyes.
And for just a second—
Just a flash—
He saw something.
Not pity.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Like she was three moves ahead and waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Bharat stood.
Started emptying his pockets.
Wallet. Keys. Ayesha's USB drive—
"What's this?" Rajan plucked it from his hand.
"Backup. Of the recording."
"Mm."
Rajan pocketed it.
"Anything else?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
Rajan's smile widened.
"Then you won't mind if we check."
He nodded to someone behind Bharat.
Hands grabbed him.
Security. Two of them. Big. Professional.
Started patting him down.
Rough. Thorough.
Like they'd done this before.
Bharat's pulse spiked.
This was it.
The trap.
They were going to plant something—
Drugs. Cash. Evidence of theft.
Something that would justify—
What?
Arrest?
Disappearance?
Addition to the Harvest List?
His phone buzzed.
Still on the table.
Screen lit up.
System message—visible to everyone:
"ALERT: Contraband detected in room."
"Location: WEST WALL, hidden compartment behind third Ganesh statue."
"Contents: ₹20,00,000 in cash + handwritten ledger."
"Probability of frame-job reversal if exposed: 87%."
"Recommendation: Call their bluff."
Bharat blinked.
Read it again.
West wall.
Third Ganesh statue.
Hidden compartment.
He looked up.
West wall—
Three bronze statues of Ganesh.
Third one—
Slightly larger than the others.
Base looked... odd.
Too thick.
"What are you looking at?" Rajan's voice had an edge now.
Bharat smiled.
First time since entering the room.
"Nothing."
"Just noticing your décor."
"That statue. Third one. Family heirloom?"
Pause.
Rajan's expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.
"Generic temple piece. Why?"
"Because it looks expensive."
"And I'm wondering—"
Bharat pulled away from the security guards. Walked toward the statue.
"—if it's hollow."
"Mr. Rao—"
"Because you know what's funny?"
He reached the statue. Ran his hand along the base.
"You accuse me of stealing."
"But this room—"
His fingers found a seam. Pressed.
Click.
The base opened.
"—has a hidden compartment in a statue."
"Which seems odd for a conference room."
"Unless—"
He reached inside.
Pulled out a metal box.
Small. Locked. Heavy.
"—you're hiding something."
The room went silent.
Nuclear silent.
The kind that came before explosions.
Rajan's face had gone very still.
"Put that back."
"Why?"
"It's temple property—"
"Then you won't mind if I open it."
"That box is—"
"Evidence?"
Bharat slammed it on the table.
Hard.
Lock broke.
Contents spilled out:
Cash. Stacks of it. ₹500 notes bound with rubber bands.
And underneath—
A ledger.
Handwritten.
Names. Dates. Amounts.
Mr. Kapoor leaned forward. Picked up a page.
Read.
His face went white.
"Rajan."
"This is—"
"Operational funds—"
"These are bribes." Kapoor's voice shook. "Police commissioners. Judges. Politicians."
"And these names—"
He flipped a page.
"These are Harvest candidates."
"With prices next to them."
Silence.
Rajan stood very still.
Like a statue himself.
Then smiled.
Cold. Sharp.
"Bharat."
"You've made a mistake."
"Have I?"
"You think exposing this helps you?"
"I think it proves I'm not the thief here."
"No." Rajan's voice went soft. Dangerous. "It proves you're smarter than I thought."
"Which makes you more dangerous."
"Not less."
He turned to the board.
"Gentlemen. It seems we have a problem."
"The proxy has seen too much."
"Knows too much."
"And clearly—"
He looked at Mira.
"—has help."
Mira met his gaze.
Didn't blink.
"The only problem, Rajan, is that you've been embezzling temple funds."
"These are—"
"Documented bribes. Illegal payments. Evidence of conspiracy."
She stood.
"The board will be voting on your removal. Effective immediately."
"You can't—"
"I can." Her voice was ice. "I'm majority shareholder. And you've just committed fraud on a scale that violates our charter."
Pause.
"All in favor of Rajan Malhotra's removal from the board?"
Silence.
Then—
Slowly—
Five hands rose.
Including Mr. Kapoor.
"Motion passes."
Mira smiled.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Victorious.
"You're dismissed, Rajan. Security will escort you out."
Rajan stood there.
Very still.
Then laughed.
Soft. Bitter.
"You think this ends it?"
"You think removing me from the board stops Harvest Day?"
He looked at Bharat.
"The temple is older than me."
"Older than her."
"It has appetites we don't control."
"Just feed."
"And your mother?"
Pause.
"She's still on the list."
"And twenty-six days from now—"
"She'll be in the ground."
"Or the altar."
"Depending on how generous the gods feel."
He walked toward the door.
Stopped beside Bharat.
"You won, proxy."
"Congratulations."
Leaned in close.
"Now see how long you survive the prize."
He left.
Door closing like a coffin lid.
Bharat stood there.
Hands shaking.
Adrenaline crashing.
He'd won.
Exposed Rajan.
Survived the frame job.
But—
He looked at the ledger.
Flipped to the last page.
And froze.
Additional notation:
"OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS - SINGAPORE"
Account numbers. Routing codes.
And a name:
"PRIMARY BENEFICIARY: Temple Trust - Harvest Operations Fund"
Below that:
A list of transactions.
Millions.
Tens of millions.
Flowing in and out like a river of blood money.
And at the bottom—
Handwritten note:
"New Moon Harvest - 26 days. Estimated yield: ₹50 crore."
Bharat's vision blurred.
Fifty crores.
For twelve lives.
His mother's life.
Had a price tag.
His phone buzzed.
System:
"CONGRATULATIONS: Frame-job reversed. Evidence obtained."
"BONUS INTEL: Offshore accounts = Temple's true power source."
"WARNING: Rajan Malhotra removed from board but retains external assets."
"Probability of retaliation within 48 hours: 92%."
"Probability of lethal force: 78%."
"Survival tip: Watch your back. Also your front. Also the ceiling."
"Seriously, he's going to try to kill you."
Bharat looked at Mira.
"He's going to come after me."
"Yes."
"You knew that would happen."
"Yes."
"And you still—"
"I needed him exposed." Her voice was calm. Clinical. "You were the catalyst."
"I'm bait."
"You're a proxy." She walked toward him. "That's what you signed up for."
"I signed up to buy my mother time—"
"And I'm giving it to you." She picked up the ledger. "This evidence? It buys you leverage."
"Offshore accounts. Harvest funds. Proof of the temple's financial infrastructure."
"Rajan can be replaced."
"But this—"
She tapped the ledger.
"This can bring down the whole system."
"If you're smart enough to use it."
Pause.
"Are you?"
Bharat stared at her.
At this woman who'd bought his life.
Married him.
Used him.
And was now offering him a weapon he didn't know how to wield.
"What do you want from me?"
"Survival." Mira's smile was thin. "Yours. Mine. Ayesha's."
"We're all on lists, Bharat."
"Some longer than others."
"And the only way off—"
Pause.
"—is to burn the whole thing down."
"Starting with the money."
She handed him the ledger.
"Twenty-six days."
"Figure out how to weaponize this."
"Or we all end up as offerings."
She walked out.
Leaving Bharat alone.
In a conference room.
Holding evidence worth fifty crores.
And a death sentence.
His phone buzzed one last time.
"QUEST UPDATED: Survive Rajan's retaliation."
"OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: Destroy offshore financial network."
"REWARD: Unknown."
"FAILURE PENALTY: You become the harvest."
"Good luck, proxy."
"You're going to need it."
Bharat looked at the ledger.
At the account numbers.
At his mother's name somewhere in the margins of this nightmare.
Twenty-six days.
To dismantle a financial empire.
Or die trying.
The math was clear.
The odds were impossible.
But—
He was done being bait.
Time to be the knife.