[POV: Rajesh]
My life was now a split-screen monitor. On the left: the legitimate world. University portals, merger documents, group project chats blinking with useless notifications. On the right: the real world. A hacked-together dashboard with CCTV timestamps, the Sunlight Foundation financials from Divya's USB drive, and a grainy still I'd captured of the silver Fortuner's driver—a blurry silhouette in a grey uniform.
The two worlds were crashing.
"Dude, are you even listening?"
I blinked. I was in a glass-walled study room at the Delhi School of Business. My "Strategic Mergers & Acquisitions" group project team stared at me. There was Rohan, who wore polos so tight they looked painted on. Aisha, who was actually competent and had already done 80% of the work. And Kabir, who mostly just wanted to know if we could expense chai to the project budget.
I'd missed the last two meetings entirely. I'd ghosted the WhatsApp group. My contributions so far were a two-sentence email sent at 3 AM that just said: "Leverage synergy. Mitigate cultural debt. See attached." The attachment was an empty PDF.
"Malhotra, this is worth forty percent of our grade," Rohan said, tapping his expensive pen on the table. "My father is on the board of advisors. I cannot afford a B. My future at Goldman Sachs literally depends on this."
I wanted to tell him his future at Goldman Sachs depended on his ability to fetch coffee and not question billionaires, but I didn't have the energy.
"I'm here, aren't I?" I said, my eyes drifting back to my laptop screen. I had six tabs open on the public CCTV portal for the Municipal Corporation of Delhi. I was cross-referencing traffic cam feeds from the night Amit died, looking for any grey vehicle entering or leaving the industrial zone between 6 PM and 8 PM. It was like looking for one specific grain of sand on a beach made of pixels.
"Okay, great, you're physically here," Aisha said, her voice dry. She pushed a stack of papers toward me. "We've modeled the post-merger integration for the hypothetical 'TechGiant & BrickMobile' case study. We need you to run the financial risk analysis on slides twenty through forty. Kabir did the… creative formatting."
Kabir beamed. "I used a gradient, bro. Sky blue to sunset orange. It's aspirational."
I stared at the slides. They were about a fake merger between a software company and a chain of brick-and-mortar phone stores. The stakes were zero. The outcome was meaningless.
Meanwhile, on my screen, a timestamp ticked over: 18:47:23. A blurry truck passed a junction two kilometres from St. Martin's. Not grey. Useless.
"I'll do the risk analysis," I said, my voice automatic. "Send me the data files."
"They're in the shared drive. In the folder labeled 'DATA,'" Aisha said slowly, as if explaining the internet to a toddler. "Which you would know if you'd read any of my seventy-two messages."
My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Divya.
Divya: Any luck on the grey paint? I'm in the design library. They have a materials archive. I can try to match the sample if you get me a piece.
I typed back under the table.
Me: Too risky to move the sample. Photo didn't work?
Divya: Need to see the texture under light. Is it matte? Gloss? Automotive? Industrial?
"Is that the board calling, Malhotra?" Rohan sneered. "Need to approve a few million?"
I looked up, my patience a thin, fraying wire. "It's a personal matter."
"We're all busy, man," Kabir chimed in, not looking up from his phone where he was probably scrolling Instagram. "I have, like, three other group things. And a squash tournament."
"Then maybe focus on one thing at a time," I snapped. The words came out harsher than I meant. Kabir flinched.
Aisha sighed, a world-weary sound. "Look, Rajesh. We get it. You're going through… something. The Sharma thing. It's awful. But this is a team. You either be on it, or you tell the professor you need to be off it. But you don't get to just haunt the edges and expect us to carry you."
The Sharma thing. She made it sound like he'd sprained an ankle. The casual reduction of my brother's murder to a minor personal inconvenience for the group dynamic was a white-hot spike through my temple.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I said, my voice dangerously low.
"Then enlighten us!" Rohan threw his hands up. "Because from here, it looks like you're using a tragedy as an excuse to be a flake. My father said your focus at the Liang merger meetings has been 'scatter-shot.' He's worried."
Ah. So that was it. Daddy was gossiping at the club. My professional reputation was bleeding into my academic one. The CEO was faltering.
On my laptop, the CCTV feed hit 19:03:11. The timestamp of the 911 call from the street sweeper. My heart clenched. I was watching the moment the world ended, filtered through the lens of a garbage traffic camera that saw nothing.
I stood up so suddenly my chair screeched back. "Do the project without me."
Aisha's eyes went wide. "What? You can't just—"
"I can. Put my name last. I don't care. Bill my father for whatever tutor you need to hire to replace my contribution." I started shoving my laptop into my bag.
"Rajesh, be serious!" Rohan sputtered.
"I have never been more serious in my life," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I looked at each of them. "You're worried about a grade. About Goldman Sachs. About squash." My gaze landed on Rohan. "Tell your father my focus is exactly where it needs to be. On something that actually matters."
I walked out of the study room, leaving them in stunned silence.
I didn't go far. I headed to the deserted graduate student lounge—a dark, carpeted cave that smelled of old coffee and ambition. I claimed a corner carrel, plugged in my laptop, and dove back into the pixelated abyss.
I pulled up a new window. Not CCTV. I accessed the Sunlight Foundation donor database I'd cracked using the files from Divya's USB. I filtered for corporate donors. Scrolled.
And there it was.
V_Spectra Ltd. - Annual Donation: ₹25,00,000.
The shell company Vikram was funneling money to. The same one Amit had a random ₹2,500 UPI payment to. A test transaction? A data leak purchase?
I opened the corporate registry for V_Spectra. The registered address was a virtual office in Connaught Place. The director was a name I didn't recognize. But the company's declared business was "logistics and secure transport."
Secure transport.
My mind flashed to the buckle I'd found. From a strap. A laptop bag? Or maybe… a bag worn by someone in secure transport. A uniform.
Grey paint. Grey uniforms.
My phone buzzed. Not Divya. A call from an unknown Delhi number. I let it go to voicemail. A minute later, a text from the same number.
Unknown: Mr. Malhotra. Your group members are distressed. Your professor is concerned. Your commitment is being questioned. A shame for such a promising student. Perhaps it's time to re-commit to your studies. Let the past rest.
They weren't just watching my hacking. They were watching my grades. They were threatening my academic standing. Applying pressure on every single front of my life.
The rage was a clean, cold flame. They wanted to play this game? Fine.
I called Divya. She picked up on the first ring.
"Did you find something?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper. Library voice.
"They're threatening my university standing. My group project."
A beat of silence. "That's… weirdly specific. And petty."
"It's strategic. They want to box me in. Keep me busy putting out fires in my 'real' life so I don't have time for our 'other' life." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Listen, I need you to do something off-book. No emails, no texts after this."
"Okay…"
"The company V_Spectra. It's a logistics firm. I think it might be a front for a private security company. The kind that drives armoured cars, transports cash. They'd have grey vehicles. Grey uniforms."
I could almost hear her brain connecting the dots. "The paint sample. The buckle."
"Exactly. I need you to physically go to their registered office. It's a virtual address, but there'll be a reception service. See what you can see. Don't ask questions. Just observe. What's in the building lobby? What logos are on the wall?"
"You want me to go spy on a… potential murder front company? Alone?"
"It's a public office building in the middle of Connaught Place in broad daylight. It's the safest kind of recon there is. Safer than a petrol pump at night." I paused. "Do you have a class?"
"Studio till 4."
"Go after. I'll be tracking your location. If you're inside for more than fifteen minutes, I'm calling you with a fake emergency."
She let out a long breath. "Okay. Okay, I'll go."
"Divya."
"What?"
"Wear a hoodie. Put your hair up. Don't look like… you."
A faint, almost laugh. "You mean don't look like a walking art project? Noted, CEO."
I hung up. I looked back at my group project chat on my phone. It was blowing up.
Rohan: Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.
Kabir: Bro, not cool.
Aisha: Rajesh, this is a mistake. Come back and we can figure this out.
I typed a single response.
Me: Handle the merger. I have a more important acquisition to manage.
I turned my phone face down. On my laptop, I zoomed in on the blurry Fortuner driver screenshot. I couldn't see a face. But on the sleeve, I could just make out a patch. An emblem. It was too fuzzy to decipher.
But I knew what I was looking for now. I opened a new search.
Private Security Companies Delhi.
Grey Uniforms.
Armoured Transport.
The fake merger on my split-screen was forgotten. The real one—the hostile takeover of the truth about my best friend's death—was finally, truly, underway. And my chaotic, brilliant partner was walking into the lion's den, while I sat in a dark lounge, alienating everyone in my legitimate life.
It was a price I was willing to pay.