"Arjun, that was... cruel," Radha whispered as they hurried away from the court complex. She was still shaking from the confrontation. "You exposed that poor woman. You... you blackmailed her."
"I recruited her, Mom," Arjun said, not slowing down. He scanned the street, his eyes landing on a small shop with the black and yellow 'PCO' sign. "There's a difference. I didn't create her problem; I offered her the solution. She's a good person, a lioness, but she was starving. You can't ask a starving lioness to fight for you; you have to show her the feast."
He pulled his mother toward the shop. "Now, I have to make sure the feast is delivered."
Radha was still processing his words. Cruel? Recruited? The lines were blurring.
Arjun walked into the cramped public call booth. "Uncle," he said to the operator, "do you have a phone directory?"
The operator grunted and slid a book as thick as a brick across the counter. Arjun's small fingers, guided by a 34-year-old's memory, flew through the 'B' section of the business listings. Bharat-Infotech... Bharat-Petroleum... Bharat-Tech Solutions.
He found it. The main office line.
He handed the operator a one-rupee coin, stepped into the small black booth, and shut the wooden door, muffling the sound. Radha watched through the glass, her heart in her throat.
The phone rang twice.
"Bharat-Tech Solutions, good afternoon." The receptionist's voice was bored.
"I need to speak to Prakash Murthy. Immediately," Arjun said, his voice as cold and flat as he could make it.
"Mr. Murthy is in an all-hands meeting, he is not to be disturbed. Who is calling, please?"
"This is 'A.V.' Tell him I am calling about the 30% equity agreement. Tell him he has sixty seconds before my terms change."
There was a choked sound on the other end. "P-Please... please hold!"
Radha watched as Arjun stood, perfectly still, tapping his fingers on the metal coin box. Less than ten seconds passed.
"Who is this?!" Prakash's voice boomed over the line, frantic and furious. "How did you get this number?"
"You're wasting my time, Mr. Murthy," Arjun said, cutting him off. The 12-year-old's voice, combined with the absolute authority, was a disorienting weapon. "Is the draft contract ready?"
"My lawyers... they're working on it! It's not simple, you can't just—"
"You will have it ready," Arjun interrupted, "and you will have a courier deliver it. Not to my home. You will not come near my mother again."
"Then where?" Prakash yelled, his frustration peaking. "Where do I send it?"
Arjun's lips curved into a cold smile. "To my legal counsel. Advocate Aisha Siddiqui. Suite #214, Akbar Towers."
There was a stunned silence on the other end. Prakash was dumbfounded. The 12-year-old boy, who lived in a slum apartment, had legal counsel?
"I don't know who that is!" Prakash sputtered.
"You don't need to. Your courier does," Arjun said. "The draft must be on her desk by 5 PM. Today."
"That's... that's less than three hours! My lawyers will never..."
"5 PM," Arjun repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If she is not holding that contract in her hand by 5:01 PM, our next meeting will be to discuss thirty-five percent. Do you understand me, Prakash-ji?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He hung up the phone, the click of the receiver sounding like a judge's gavel.
He stepped out of the booth. The one-rupee coin hadn't even been used up.
Radha looked at him, her eyes wide with a new kind of awe. The fear was still there, but it was now mixed with something else. Her son, her little Arjun, had just brought a CEO to his knees with a one-rupee phone call.
"It's done," Arjun said, taking her hand again, his small palm a stark contrast to the massive power he now wielded.
"Where... where do we go now?" Radha asked, her voice small.
"We go home, Mom," Arjun said, leading her toward the auto-rickshaw stand. "We go home, and you make us some tea. The board is set. Now, we wait for the other players to make their moves."