"When the time comes, you must let go."
Ms. Maria and Sir Henderson sat across from one another in the dimly lit meeting room, the air thick with silence and expectation.
"I suppose it's time we call Harsh and Sumeet back," Ms. Maria said at last, her voice steady but her eyes betraying eagerness. "They are better needed here. VPS is in the city—and I believe they could serve more use here than in Kerala."
Sir Henderson exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as if the very thought weighed on him. "Sir Mitusawa doesn't share your sentiment. And frankly, what would those clowns manage here? VPS isn't a child to be babysat. Let them continue their work where they are. Sarla is hardly a lightweight either."
Ms. Maria turned her gaze toward the window, just as a tall, sharply dressed man strode across the corridor. The sound of polished shoes echoed against the marble floor. He pushed open the heavy door and entered with a calm authority.
Sir Henderson's expression shifted; his eyes flicked briefly to Ms. Maria before he spoke. "Please excuse us. We have something to discuss."
Confusion flickered across Ms. Maria's face, but she knew better than to question Henderson's tone. Rising gracefully, she gave a small nod and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
The man smirked, voice dripping with mockery.
"Lovely lady. She's aging like fine wine."
Sir Henderson scoffed, eyes narrowing.
"Why are you here, Garbett? Didn't I tell you to stay away from me? Why are you so hell-bent on ruining my reputation and career? Isn't it enough that I'm already helping you?"
Garbett's reply came in a thunderous bellow.
"Shut up! I didn't come here to hear your whining. I want answers. Time is valuable for men like us. That idiot Dempsey has already wasted too much of mine, and now you're doing the same. Why is VPS still here? Why haven't you disposed of him? Anabelle is fuming in Italy, the Chinese won't stop ringing my phone, and Ricardo Martinez is flooding India with his goods—he wants those two clowns gone yesterday."
Henderson let out a long, tired sigh.
"Nothing is in my hands. Sir Mitusawa has eyes on everyone, and don't forget—the Americans are laser-focused on this. Moving VPS now is impossible without triggering alarms."
Garbett's fists clenched as his voice rose.
"Then return the money you swallowed!"
Henderson's jaw tightened.
"That money was for my cooperation and silence. I've delivered both, at the right times."
For a moment, Garbett's anger eased into a sly smile.
"I think I have a plan. One that benefits us both."
Henderson snarled back.
"Keep your plan to yourself. The less you know, the safer you are."
But Garbett pressed on, bellowing again.
"Just listen. Why don't we hand VPS over to Thomas Salt? He's still raging about what Massino did to one of his pawns. Imagine—Salt finally gets a prize that cuts at Massino's pride. I've spoken with him. He's ready to pay well. UCID won't suspect a thing if a bunch of Brits storm in and abduct VPS—their leader already has a grudge."
Henderson's eyes flickered with thought.
"Even if Salt agrees, this is UCID headquarters, not some street corner. A handful of Brits can't breach the walls. They'll need serious backing."
Garbett's smile widened into something dangerous.
"Don't worry about that. Once they get inside, nothing will stop them. Headquarters or not—dead men don't fight back."
Henderson leaned forward, uneasy.
"I stay here too, remember."
Garbett rose slowly from his chair, a smirk etched deep on his face.
"Then take a leave. A fortnight, maybe. Trust me, it's about to get too hot for you in here."
With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Henderson alone—confused, cornered, and aware that the ground beneath him was shifting fast.
Nafisa was sitting in her room, looking at the hollow wall in front of her. The place was not living like, but tough times requires tough decisions. She reached for some water and was about to drink it, when Masud gained consciousness. He jolted violently and Nafisa splashed some water on him.
"Keep quiet. Moving will intensify your pain only."
Masud screamed.
"Where am I? Who are you? Why have you kept me here?"
Nafisa smiled weakly.
"Don't act so dumb. It ain't 90s. Anyway, we don't have anything to do with you. It's your father whom we need to talk to."
Masud spitted.
"Then, kidnap him. Why have you kidnapped me?"
Nafisa rose and tossed an apple towards his mouth.
"Eat it. That's all for today."
She walked outside the room, as Masud tried hard to take a bite out of the apple.
Dempsey flicked his cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his boot. His eyes cut toward Nafisa.
"Don't get too soft with him. He's still our enemy."
Nafisa smirked, tilting her head.
"Jealous, are we? You sound just like VPS… the same green-eyed beast."
Dempsey snarled.
"Watch your mouth. I'm not lenient like him. Next time, I won't tolerate your nonsense."
She sighed, brushing off his fury.
"Did you call his father?"
Dempsey checked his phone and cursed.
"The bastard won't pick up."
A quiet chuckle escaped Nafisa.
"Maybe he doesn't take you seriously."
Dempsey's eyes darkened. He pulled a chisel from his pocket, voice low and sharp.
"Oh, he will. Very soon."
He stormed inside. Nafisa followed, her heels clicking against the concrete. Without warning, Dempsey drove the chisel deep into Masud's arm. Masud roared in agony, blood spilling down his skin.
"Call your father now!" Dempsey barked. "Or the next cut won't be so merciful."
Masud gritted his teeth, glaring up through the pain.
"Go to hell. My father will kill you. Let me go while you still can."
Fury twisted Dempsey's face. His fist crashed into Masud's jaw, leaving him bloodied and dazed. He shoved an axe into Nafisa's hands.
"If he doesn't call within the hour… take the arm."
With that, Dempsey stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The room went quiet except for Masud's ragged breathing. Nafisa held the axe loosely, her gaze heavy on him.
"Call your father, Masud," she whispered. "Dempsey doesn't make idle threats."
Masud spat blood and gave her a weary smile.
"And what would I tell him? That I was foolish enough to offer a beautiful woman a ride home… only to be repaid like this?"
Her eyes softened.
"You're nothing like him. Your father is… an insult to humankind."
Masud froze, searching her face.
"You know him?"
Nafisa crouched beside him, gently wiping the blood from his lips.
"Of course. I worked under VPS before the… shift in power. I crossed paths with your father more than once. But you… never."
His expression shifted from suspicion to concern.
"Then leave. Now. Before he finds out. I don't want him hurting you."
Her hand lingered on his cheek, trembling slightly.
"Why? Do you care for me, Masud? Or… have you fallen for me already?"
A flush rose beneath his bruises.
"It's not that. I just… I see kindness in you. You don't belong in this."
The words pierced her. For a moment, the axe felt impossibly heavy in her grip. Her throat tightened, eyes brimming with tears.
Masud panicked.
"Don't cry… I didn't mean to upset you."
She shook her head, forcing a smile through the tears.
"No. You're right. I should go."
Masud's voice cracked as he looked at her desperately.
"Stay. If you must, kill me—but don't leave me alone."
Nafisa grimaced, her tears falling freely now.
"Trust me. You won't die. Not while I'm here."
He frowned, confused.
"How can you be so sure?"
She leaned close, her voice a whisper.
"Because your father won't recognize me."
Before he could answer, she stood abruptly and bolted for the door, vanishing into the night.
Farooque sat in his office, plucking grapes one by one, the sweetness dulling the bitterness in his chest. The phone on his desk flashed a familiar number. His eyes narrowed.
"Nafisa?" he grunted, lifting the receiver.
"What do you want?" His voice was a growl, heavy with disdain. "I don't talk to the girl who betrayed my brother."
On the other end, Nafisa's laugh was soft, almost playful. "What if you do want to?"
His grip on the phone tightened. "Why?"
"Because," Nafisa purred, "we have your son. He's in our custody… and his life depends on your answer."
Farooque's fist clenched so hard his knuckles whitened. His jaw worked, grinding against the fury boiling inside him. "What do you want?"
"What if," she teased, "you spoke with a person of interest?"
Farooque's voice rose into a howl. "Dempsey?"
"You are smart," Nafisa replied, calm as ever.
Farooque gave a bitter smile. "I know you won't harm my son. You can't. And I won't waste my breath on a loser like Dempsey."
He slammed the receiver down, the echo of metal biting into silence. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the clock, then shifted to the photograph of his son. His breath came heavy, and a sigh slipped from his chest like smoke.
He pressed a button. Within seconds, a man entered the office, bowing slightly.
"What do you want, boss?"
Farooque rose, his shadow looming over the man. His voice was ice. "Someone kidnapped my son… and you ask me what I want?"
The man's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. Before he could speak again, the crack of a gunshot filled the room. He dropped instantly, crimson spreading across the marble floor.
Farooque holstered his gun with a calm precision, his face expressionless. He turned, his shoes leaving dark prints in blood as he strode out. Each step was iron, carrying him toward the meeting room.
Grief would have to wait. War could not.
Four men were sitting around a round table.
"A tall, handsome Arabian man in his mid-thirties. Nothing makes women more wet than that," Salman Farooque — Farooque's younger brother — was saying to his assistant, Joseph Campbell.
Salman glanced at the other two men sitting across from him and Joseph. "Hey, what do you think about that? Mustaq?"
Mushtaq, Farooque's manager, raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so obsessed with women? Don't you like men?"
Rahman, Farooque's brother-in-law, chuckled. "Must be regretting coming out of the closet."
Salman grunted. "Whatever. It's not like I'm a virgin like you. I get any woman I want."
Joseph waved a hand. "Boss is coming."
Silence fell. The door was pushed open — more like kicked — and all four men shivered.
"Why doesn't anyone use their brains here? My brother, my brother-in-law, and now my son? How many fuck-ups am I supposed to manage?" Farooque's voice cut through the room.
Salman frowned. "What happened? Is Masud okay?"
Farooque's eyes darted at him. "Okay? That idiot got himself kidnapped by a clown and a ho."
Joseph wiped sweat from his forehead. "We can arrange the ransom."
Farooque closed his eyes and slammed his fist on the table, leaving a dent. "Ransom? Who told you it's about money? They want me to sit and talk with them."
Rahman coughed. "Really? That's… weird. Don't go."
Farooque rubbed the back of his neck. "Am I saying something you're not understanding? My son is kidnapped — by Dempsey and Nafisa."
Shock swept the room. All were aghast.
Salman hummed. "That's bad. Dempsey is dangerous. What does VPS have to say about it?"
Mushtaq shushed him. "Don't you know he's incarcerated?"
Salman smirked. "So what? One phone call and he'd come running. My brother made that donkey into the horse he is today."
Farooque growled. "VPS is not a donkey. He's a lion. If I tell him Nafisa is pressuring me to meet Dempsey, he'd shred me to pieces. I didn't make him — he made us. Anyway, it's not our war. If Nafisa's joined hands with his arch-enemy, VPS should handle it. Better to stay out of it."
Rahman grunted. "Don't act like a fool, Farooque. Masud is your son. Your only son. What if something happens? Are you going to let him stay among snakes?"
Farooque rubbed his temple. "He's safe there. Dempsey won't do anything. He perfectly knows Masud's value — that keeps him immune to my wrath. Once VPS roars from prison, Dempsey will send Masud back himself."
Mushtaq scoffed. "VPS is in UCID headquarters. Releasing him from there is next to impossible."
Farooque growled. "I don't care. I want him out before the end of the month." He rose and walked briskly out of the room.
Salman whined. "Every time my brother talks, my headache gets worse."
Mushtaq smiled. "I guess it's wise. Dempsey is VPS's problem. We'll benefit just by watching."
Salman chuckled. "UCID is no cake."
Mustaq turned to Rahman, and the two of them smirked.....