Raj stared at the glowing screen.
"I know what really happened the night your father died."
The words stabbed deeper than any boardroom betrayal. He'd buried that night under layers of rage and ambition, but someone had just dragged it out.
He typed quickly.
Raj: Who are you?
No reply. Only the double tick turning blue.
He slammed the phone down, pacing across his office. The city lights flickered beyond the glass, but his mind was already racing.
"Vikram Rathore's death was ruled an accident," Raj muttered, voice low, dangerous. "But if someone is hinting otherwise… it means they were either there, or they want me paranoid."
His aide, Sameer, knocked timidly and stepped in.
"Sir, should I trace the number?"
"Do it," Raj snapped. Then softened, almost like a predator stroking its claws.
"And Sameer… if it's a trap, I want the hunter caught in his own net."
Sameer nodded and left quickly, eager to escape the storm building in Raj's eyes.
Raj poured himself another drink, staring at his reflection in the window. He hated mirrors. They reminded him too much of his father—kind eyes, softer edges. Raj had burned all of that out of himself.
But tonight, the past scratched back.
"Who sent this?" he whispered. "And why now, when I'm finally rising?"
Scene Shift: Delhi – Meera's Apartment
The clink of heels echoed against marble floors. Meera Chauhan walked into her modest-but-classy apartment, tossing the inspection file onto her glass dining table.
Her cousin called, voice smug.
"So, Meera, they've assigned you Rathore? Careful, he eats bureaucrats for breakfast."
Meera smirked, unbothered.
"Then it's time someone made him choke."
"Still hungry for power, aren't you?" her cousin teased.
Meera's tone sharpened.
"Hungry? No. Deserving. But tell me, when was the last time a woman in our family held a real seat of power?"
Silence on the other end. Her cousin had no answer.
She hung up and flipped open the file again.
Raj Rathore. Young billionaire. Ruthless tactics. Alleged underworld ties.
Her eyes glinted.
"Ambitious men think they own the system. Let's see what happens when ambition meets someone who is the system."
Back to Mumbai – Midnight
Sameer returned, pale.
"Sir… we traced the number."
Raj didn't even look up. "And?"
"It was routed through three different servers. Whoever sent this knows how to cover their tracks. But—" Sameer hesitated. "—the final ping came from Delhi."
Raj's head snapped up.
"Delhi?"
"Yes, sir. And the timing… it was sent barely an hour after the government announced your company will be inspected."
Raj's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"So. Someone wants me distracted before the bureaucrat arrives."
Sameer whispered, "Should I dig deeper?"
Raj leaned back, cold and calm.
"No. Let them think I'm blind. A spider doesn't chase flies. He waits."
Raj returned to his desk, fingers drumming.
"Delhi… Meera Chauhan… and now a ghost from my father's death."
He closed his eyes briefly, remembering his father's coffin. His vow. His rage.
If this messenger thought Raj Rathore could be broken… they were about to learn otherwise.
Scene Shift: Delhi – Ministry of Commerce
The next morning, Meera walked into the polished corridors of power, her file neatly tucked under her arm. Officials greeted her politely, though some with barely hidden skepticism.
"Chauhan," an older bureaucrat muttered, "be careful with Rathore. He doesn't play by the rules."
Meera shot back without slowing her stride.
"Good. Neither do I."
She entered her superior's office, where the Minister himself leaned back in his leather chair.
"You're young, ambitious, and untested," he said bluntly. "Raj Rathore is not your average businessman. If you fail, you'll be finished before you begin."
Meera's chin lifted, her voice steady.
"Then I won't fail."
The Minister studied her, amused. "Your father raised a dangerous daughter."
Meera smiled faintly.
"You have no idea."
Back in Mumbai – Raj's Office, Dawn
Raj hadn't slept. He never did when there was a threat lurking. He reviewed financial charts, property files, offshore accounts. Numbers calmed him—they were predictable. Humans weren't.
His phone buzzed again.
Another message from the same unknown number.
"Meet me if you want the truth about Vikram Rathore. Tomorrow. Midnight. Chandni Chowk, Delhi."
Raj's jaw clenched.
Delhi. Again.
Sameer asked cautiously, "Sir, do you believe them?"
Raj's voice was ice.
"I don't believe in truth. I believe in leverage. If they know something… I'll make them talk."
He stood, slipping on his black coat. His eyes were fire, his voice steel.
"Book me a jet. I'm going to Delhi."
As Raj strode out, Sameer hesitated, almost whispering—
"Sir… the special officer assigned to inspect your empire… she's already in Delhi. Her name is—"
Raj cut him off, cold.
"I know her name."
But his eyes, for the first time, flickered with something dangerous.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something far worse then anticipation.