The high of the delivery evaporated in the cold light of the ledger. The ₹2,20,000 check from Agarwal was a proud trophy, but deposited into the company account, it was a drop of water on a hot stone. It vanished almost instantly, swallowed by a mountain of deferred payments.
Lina presented the updated financials with a grim expression. The numbers were no longer abstract; they were a countdown.
Patel Holdings - Financial Reckoning
· Remaining "Arun Patel" Oil Fund: ₹72,34,112
· Total Expenditure (Plant, Legal, Wages, Overhead): ₹1,87,65,888
· Total Revenue (Logistics + Electronics): ₹7,40,600
· Net Loss (Cumulative): ₹(1,80,25,288)
The math was brutal and inescapable. The noble experiment in legitimacy had incinerated over ₹18 lakh of his original war chest. He was spending faster than he could earn, and the Agarwal order had proven that even a "success" lost them money.
The reality of their situation crashed down with the force of a physical blow. The office, which had felt like a headquarters just days before, now felt like a very expensive closet. The two trucks needed new tires. The Kandivali plant's lease renewal was due, with a 15% increase. Ms. Mehta's firm sent a polite reminder about their outstanding balance for the ongoing legal work on Swami's other frozen assets—a case that now felt like a distant, expensive fantasy.
Harsh called a meeting. The mood was funereal. Deepak, Sanjay, and Lina sat around the desk. He didn't soften the blow. He showed them the numbers.
"We're bleeding out," he said, his voice flat. "The Agarwal order was a masterpiece. And it pushed us closer to the edge. Our model is broken."
Sanjay looked stricken. "But the Merchant order... the stores sold out! The demand is there!"
"The demand is for a product we cannot afford to make," Harsh countered. "We are artisans trying to run a factory. Artisans lose money. Factories make it. We have to become a factory."
"How?" Deepak asked, the pragmatist seeking a blueprint. "We cannot make the components cheaper without sacrificing quality. We cannot pay the workers less. They are already at the minimum."
"We don't make it cheaper," Harsh said, a dangerous, new resolve hardening in his eyes. "We make it smarter. We stop fighting the entire war on every front at once."
He laid out a brutal new strategy, a triage for their dying business:
1. The Plant Goes Dormant. After the Merchant order was fulfilled, they would halt all production of the "Bombay Groove." They would not take new orders. The twenty-five workers would be laid off with a month's severance pay, a cost that made Harsh's stomach clench but was necessary. Only Rahim and a skeleton crew of two would be retained for maintenance and R&D.
2. Logistics is the Lifeline. The trucking business was the only division making consistent, if modest, revenue. This would become their sole focus. Deepak would shift from Head of Production to Head of Operations. His task was to expand the fleet to ten trucks within three months and triple their client list. They would become the best, most reliable, no-bribe logistics firm in the city. It was a crowded market with razor-thin margins, but it was predictable. It could keep the lights on.
3. Monetize the Asset. The Sewri warehouse was a drain, sitting empty. They would rent it out. Not for a premium, but for whatever they could get. Storage, a smaller workshop, anything. It would generate income and stop the financial bleed from that front.
4. The Crown Jewels. The "Bombay Groove" was not dead. It was in hibernation. Deepak and Rahim's new task was to reverse-engineer their own product. To strip it down to its essence and redesign it for mass production. Could a plastic composite mimic the feel of the aluminum faceplate at a fraction of the cost? Could the circuit board be simplified? Could they find a single, reliable supplier for a pre-assembled tape mechanism, even if it was slightly inferior? They were to build a version two that could retail for ₹1,999 and still turn a profit. It was a heresy against the original vision, but a necessary one.
It was a surrender. A retreat from the front lines of manufacturing back to the safer, humbler ground of services and logistics. The dream of being "Patel Holdings, Manufacturer of the Bombay Groove" was being put on hold.
The silence in the room was heavy with disappointment. Sanjay looked down at his hands. The salesman had lost his product. Deepak's shoulders slumped; the technician was being told to stop creating and start managing truck routes.
"This is not the end," Harsh said, his voice low but intense. "This is a tactical retreat. We tried to run before we could walk. Now, we learn to walk. The logistics business will be our school. It will teach us cash flow, management, sales. It will fund us. And when we have learned those lessons, when we have the capital and the process, we will come back to this." He pointed towards the direction of the Kandivali plant. "And we will do it right."
The plan was approved in grim silence. The following week was one of the hardest of Harsh's life. Telling Rahim to lay off the workers was a special kind of agony. The man nodded, his face a mask of stoic understanding, but the light of resurrection that had been in his eyes for weeks finally died.
Harsh stood at the window of his office, watching the city go about its business. He had come so far from the alcove. He had defeated a gangster, secured assets, and built a beautiful product.
And yet, he was right back where he started: fighting for survival, rupee by painful rupee. The crown of ashes was his. It was time to stop pretending it was a crown of gold and start using it to smother the fires that were consuming him.
He had tried to build an empire on principle. He had failed. Now, he would build a business on pragmatism. The architect was stepping back. The survivor was taking control.
(Chapter End)