At exactly 6:00 p.m., Vikram arrived at one of the most exclusive cafés in America.
This café was not owned by a corporation or a hotel chain. It belonged to John. The place reflected quiet luxury, private rooms, soft lighting, and an atmosphere meant for serious conversations. Every detail spoke of money earned through patience, not noise.
The invitation to Vikram was not sudden. It was carefully planned. And Sofia was a part of that plan.
John and Sofia had been friends since childhood. Their families knew each other well. Sofia did not come from a middle-class background. Her father was one of the biggest builders in the country, a man who constructed massive buildings and earned money in millions. The total value of Sofia's family property was close to three thousand million dollars.
John's family wealth was even larger.
Michael, John's father, once owned nearly twenty-five thousand million dollars. But his obsession with films had destroyed much of it. One project after another failed to recreate his old success. Some films performed average, many failed completely. Money kept flowing into cinema, but nothing came back the same way.
Now, Michael's remaining wealth stood at around five thousand million dollars.
John, however, had built this café with his own earnings. He was a producer like his father and also worked as a director. But his career, too, was struggling. He had produced several films with Michael, yet none of them brought real success. Father and son were both standing at a broken point in their cinematic journey.
That was why Vikram was here.
John believed that friendship with Vikram could turn into profit worth millions.
Inside a private room, John sat alone on a chair near a round table. Several empty chairs surrounded it. His fingers rested lightly on the table as his mind raced.
How do I approach him?
How do I turn this meeting into an opportunity?
Before he could think further, the door opened.
Vikram entered the room with Sofia.
It felt more accurate to say that Sofia had brought Vikram with her.
She looked stunning. Sofia wore a blue, body-hugging dress. Her hair was open, her red lipstick bold, and her dark makeup sharp. She looked confident, powerful, and undeniably attractive.
But John was not looking at Sofia.
His eyes were fixed on Vikram.
John stood up and walked toward them. He extended his hand toward Vikram for a handshake.
Vikram ignored it.
His hand stayed in the air for a moment before John slowly pulled it back.
"Should we sit and talk," Vikram said coldly, "or are we going to keep standing?"
The attitude was clear.
John felt it. It hurt slightly, but he didn't show it.
"Please," John said calmly. "Let's sit."
He gestured for Vikram and Sofia to take their seats first. After they sat, John returned to his chair.
The conversation began.
Mostly, John talked.
He spoke about films, opportunities, the changing industry, partnerships, and future possibilities. Vikram listened silently. His expression remained unreadable. It was impossible to tell whether he was interested or simply tolerating the noise.
Finally, Vikram spoke.
"John," he said seriously, "there was a time when I had nothing."
John went silent.
"My writing was mocked," Vikram continued. "I went to countless producers. Everyone rejected me. Some laughed. Some didn't even read my work."
He paused.
"Your father, Michael, was one of them. He didn't just reject me. He told me to quit writing and work in a store if I wanted money. He said writing wasn't for me."
The room felt heavier.
"Today," Vikram said, his voice steady, "I am one of the biggest writer-directors in the industry. Producers come to my house with scripts. I don't work for fees. I work on partnerships."
He leaned slightly forward.
"If a film's budget is one thousand million dollars, I take fifty percent. Five hundred million. That is how I work."
John listened without blinking.
"My total property is worth around twelve thousand million dollars," Vikram continued. "At my age, no director has built this much. Not one."
There was no pride in his voice. Only fact.
"All of this happened because one man believed in me when no one else did," Vikram said. "If Johnny Albert hadn't given me that opportunity, I'd still be running after producers who laughed at me."
He leaned back.
"But today, things are different. Producers chase me. And I walk ahead."
John said nothing.
Inside his mind, doubt grew.
I thought friendship with him would be profitable, John thought. But even if we become friends, will it really help? He demands fifty percent partnership. Our situation isn't strong enough.
I need to talk to my father. I can't decide this alone.
Vikram looked at him.
"What happened, John?" he asked. "What are you thinking?"
John reacted immediately.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Nothing at all. Would you like me to order something? For you, Vikram? For you too, Sofia?"
He turned slightly, about to call a waiter.
"No," Vikram said sharply. "Thank you. I don't want anything."
Before anyone could respond, Vikram stood up.
Without another word, he walked out of the private room.
John froze.
"What just happened?" he whispered. "I didn't say anything wrong."
Sofia stood up immediately.
"I'll check," she said.
She left the room, following Vikram.
---
Elsewhere
In Hong Kong, inside the Dragon Hotel, Maria sat in her room, talking on the phone.
She was speaking to her younger sister, Rozy, who lived in India with their parents.
Maria's father, Anthony D'Souza, worked as a manager in a cement factory. Her mother, Sabrina D'Souza, was a housewife. They lived a simple middle-class life in Goa.
Maria had already spoken to her parents earlier. Now she was finishing the call with Rozy.
Their parents had a love marriage. Maria's mother was Muslim, her father Christian. Because of this, her mother's relatives still hated the family.
As the conversation continued, Rozy suddenly said something that changed Maria's mood.
"One year ago," Rozy said, "an eighteen-year-old girl was mysteriously murdered in Goa."
Maria listened carefully.
"A few weeks ago, a body was found behind old ruins near Pune. It was in terrible condition. But a fourteen-year-old boy claimed he saw everything in a dream."
Maria frowned.
"He dreamed that some young men were burying a girl's dead body behind the ruins," Rozy continued. "No one believed him. But the dream turned out to be true."
Maria felt uneasy.
"The girl's name was Rajni," Rozy said. "She had gone missing from Goa one year ago. Her parents searched everywhere. Today, her body was identified."
Rozy's voice dropped.
"Police records say she was stabbed ten times in the stomach. When that wasn't enough, her throat was cut. Then her body was buried."
Maria's hand tightened around the phone.
"The boy described the attackers," Rozy said. "He gave names. He even helped the police create sketches. All the accused were arrested."
Maria felt disturbed.
As the call ended, Maria remembered the unknown call she had received the previous night.
Her fear deepened.
"I have work," Maria said quickly. "I'll call you later."
She ended the call.
Trying to calm herself, Maria sat quietly.
Then her phone buzzed.
A WhatsApp message.
She opened it.
My dear, you remember me. I am the one who is coming to you very soon.
Next to the profile picture, the name read:
Devil
The display image was a devil's face.
Maria's heart began to race.
"Who are you?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Her hands shook.
She immediately blocked the number. Then she switched off her phone completely.
Unable to stay inside the room any longer, Maria stepped out into the corridor.
Unaware that the Black Shadow was already closer than she imagined.
Unaware that the Black Shadow was already closer than she imagined.