The two receipts from Chiman were no longer just paper; they were promises of a future that felt increasingly distant. The whispers of war had solidified into screaming headlines. Tanks were massing. Ultimatums were being issued. The world was holding its breath. And yet, the price of gold, while creeping upward, was doing so with a maddening, sluggish pace. It was a trickle, not the tidal wave Harsh knew was coming.
The tension was a physical pain in his chest. He had poured every ounce of their being into this gamble. They were living like monks, their world reduced to the grim calculus of saving another rupee, buying another fraction of a gram. The alcove was a tense, silent place, the air thick with anticipation and a slowly curdling fear that perhaps the world was wrong, and they were the fools.
It was Rane, the dockworker, who finally pulled him aside. The man's sharp eyes had noticed the change in Harsh, the new, desperate austerity.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Harsh Bhai," Rane muttered as they stood watching a container being unloaded. The word "KUWAIT" was stenciled on its side like a epitaph. "Buying gold through brokers like Chiman. It is a good way to get… disappeared. Or paid with painted lead."
Harsh's jaw tightened. "What choice do I have?"
Rane glanced around, ensuring they weren't overheard. "There is always a choice. There is the official way. And then there is the real way." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that was nearly swallowed by the dock's din. "The Dubai route."
Harsh's heart skipped a beat. Dubai. The epicenter of Gulf gold trade. The word itself was synonymous with contraband.
"The route is simple," Rane whispered, his eyes gleaming with illicit knowledge. "The market in Dubai is overflowing. The prices are lower. The purity is guaranteed. The hard part is the journey. It does not come on a ship's manifest. It comes in the pockets of fishermen. In the false panels of dhows. In the luggage of 'tourists' who make the same trip every month."
He painted a picture of a sleek, shadowy supply chain that bypassed customs, tariffs, and brokers altogether. It was the ultimate shortcut.
"The profit…" Rane said, letting the word hang in the salty air. "The profit is not double or triple. It can be five times. Maybe more. You buy in Dubai with rupees converted to dirhams on the black market. You smuggle it in. You sell it here as the price explodes. You become a rich man in weeks."
The numbers were dizzying. It was everything Harsh had dreamed of. But the glint in Rane's eye wasn't just about profit.
"Of course," Rane continued, his tone shifting, becoming heavier, "such a route does not run itself. It requires… facilitation. Protection. The waters are watched. The coastline is patrolled. Nothing moves without the right people looking the other way."
Harsh felt a cold dread seep into his stomach. He knew where this was going. "What people?"
Rane's smile was thin and humorless. "The only people who matter. The ones who control these docks. The ones who already take their twenty percent from you. The route… it is one of Venkat Swami's favourite arteries. To use it, you don't just pay a broker's fee. You pay him a toll. A heavy one. And you use his people. His dhows. His connections in Dubai."
The revelation was a sucker punch. The very path to his freedom was owned by the man who held him in chains. It wasn't an escape; it was diving deeper into the beast's belly.
The gold smuggling route wasn't an alternative to Venkat Swami. It was his exclusive franchise.
Harsh felt the walls of his cage tighten. To truly capitalize on the opportunity he alone foresaw, he would have to become more entangled with the devil than ever before. He would have to hand over even more of his money, his operation, his fate to the ghost and the unseen kingpin he represented.
The "partnership" would become a life sentence.
He stood there, paralyzed by the choice. The safe, slow, legitimate path through brokers like Chiman was a crawl, and it might not be enough. The fast, dangerous, illicit path was a sprint directly into Venkat Swami's open arms.
Rane clapped him on the shoulder, reading the conflict on his face. "Think on it, Harsh Bhai. But do not think too long. When the storm hits, the first ones to the shore get the best shells. The rest get the broken pieces."
He walked away, leaving Harsh alone amidst the chaotic energy of the port. The cranes swung like metal dinosaurs. Ships loomed like floating fortresses. And everywhere, unseen, was the vast, suffocating network of Venkat Swami's control.
He had the knowledge. He had the plan. But the only road to victory ran straight through the heart of his enemy's kingdom.
The gold surge was coming. But to reach it, he would have to make a deal with the dragon that guarded the hoard.
The cliffhanger was no longer about if the gold would rise. It was about what soul-deep compromise Harsh would have to make to claim his share.
(Chapter End)