The sun rose over Jaipur, washing the city in a soft, golden light that belied the darkness they had uncovered. For Neel, Riya, and Maya, the dawn did not bring rest, only a transition from a night spent in the shadows of the past to a day dedicated to confronting a very dangerous present.
They met not in a police station, but at a small, unassuming law office in a quiet lane of the C-Scheme neighbourhood. The lawyer, a man named Mr. Joshi, was a friend of Maya's family. He was in his late fifties, with kind eyes behind thick spectacles and an office that smelled of law books and dust, a scent not dissimilar to Dr. Sharma's study. He had listened to their story with a growing sense of alarm, his fingers steepled under his chin.
"A civil injunction against Vikram Rathore's company..." Mr. Joshi had repeated the phrase slowly, as if tasting a poison. "Maya, my dear, do you understand what you are asking? This is not just a man; he is an institution. His legal team is an army."
"I understand," Maya said, her voice steady. She had shed the vulnerability of the grieving daughter and now wore a cloak of quiet determination. "My father was murdered because he was getting too close to the truth. I am using the only weapon he left me: his research."
Neel remained silent throughout the meeting, a quiet observer in the corner. He was not a man of law; he was a man of systems. He knew that every system, whether it was a clock, a crime, or a corporate empire, had pressure points. Mr. Joshi was their tool to apply that pressure.
Riya stood by the window, her police uniform replaced by civilian clothes. She was present not as an Inspector, but as a concerned party, her official involvement carefully shielded. "We are not expecting to win this, Mr. Joshi," she clarified, her tone pragmatic. "We are expecting a reaction. We need to see how he reacts."
The lawyer looked from Riya's determined face to Maya's resolute one, and finally to the silent, watchful man in the corner. He sighed, a long, weary sound. "Alok Sharma was a good man. A brilliant man. He deserved better." He straightened a stack of papers on his desk with a final, decisive tap. "Very well. Let's go poke the dragon."
Filing the injunction at the Jaipur High Court was an exercise in bureaucratic banality that stood in stark contrast to the gravity of their actions. They moved through corridors filled with the hurried rustle of papers and the murmur of countless legal dramas. Maya signed the documents, her hand not trembling once. The court clerk, a man who had seen thousands of such petitions, stamped them with a bored thud, oblivious to the fact that he was firing the first shot in a war.
As they stepped back out into the brilliant sunshine, the tension was palpable. The move was made. The proverbial stone had been tossed into the hornet's nest. Now, they could only wait.
They spent the afternoon in a strange limbo. Riya returned to her precinct to manage the "official" investigation, which was still focused on the ghost story, a fiction she now had to carefully maintain. Neel and Maya went back to her father's house, where Neel began the painstaking process of cataloging every book, map, and note, immersing himself completely in the dead man's mind.
He worked with a silent, focused intensity that Maya found both unnerving and deeply comforting. He was not just looking at the books; he was reading the spaces between them, understanding the connections her father had made.
The call came at 4:18 PM.
Maya's phone buzzed on the coffee table. The caller ID was an unknown number from a Delhi exchange. She looked at Neel, who simply nodded, his eyes never leaving the map he was studying. She answered, putting the phone on speaker.
The voice that came through was smooth, cultured, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was the sound of expensive education and effortless power.
"Am I speaking with Ms. Maya Sharma?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Siddharth Kapoor. I am senior counsel for the Rathore Group. It has come to our attention that you have filed a rather… frivolous petition regarding our Aravalli Vistas project."
There was no anger in his voice, no overt threat. It was worse. It was a calm, paternal disappointment, as if scolding a child who had wandered into a room she didn't belong in.
"My father's research is anything but frivolous," Maya replied, her voice tight.
"Ah yes, Dr. Sharma," the lawyer sighed, a perfectly executed sound of sympathy. "A tragedy. He was a brilliant man, but perhaps a bit too imaginative in his later years. Ms. Sharma, we at the Rathore Group understand that you are grieving. We are prepared to be… generous. We would be happy to make a substantial contribution to a research grant in your father's name, to honour his more… concrete achievements."
It was a bribe, wrapped in a eulogy.
"I'm not interested in a donation," Maya said.
The lawyer's tone shifted, the silk hardening into steel. "Perhaps you don't understand. The petition you filed this morning is based on unsubstantiated theory. It is a baseless claim that is causing significant material harm to our investors and our reputation. We have teams of geologists and archaeologists who have certified that land. Your father's private fantasies do not hold up to that. I am calling you as a courtesy, Ms. Sharma, before our response becomes official. You have until ten a.m. tomorrow to withdraw it. If you do not, we will not only have it dismissed with prejudice, but we will also be filing a counter-suit against you for defamation and damages. A suit, I assure you, that will be financially and personally devastating."
He didn't need to say more. The message was clear: We can crush you.
"Think about it, Ms. Sharma," the lawyer said, his voice once again smooth as glass. "It would be a shame to tarnish your father's legacy with a messy, public, and ultimately failed legal battle."
The line went dead.
Maya stared at the phone, her face pale. The sheer, effortless power of the threat was suffocating. They hadn't just prodded the dragon; they had received a calm, articulate promise that it would burn them to the ground.
She looked at Neel, expecting to see concern, or perhaps even regret. Instead, she saw a faint, almost imperceptible gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He looked down at the map of Nahargarh, at the constellation his victim had drawn, and then back at the phone.
"Good," he said quietly. "The bulldozer is moving. And it's heading right for us."