"Finish what we started."
The phrase lingered in Rudra's mind, bouncing around like an unwelcome echo in an empty hall, each word weighed down with the gravity of unspoken truths.
Hunched over a steaming cup at Frederick's modest tea stall, he let the familiar perfume of cardamom and ginger drift into his senses, though it did nothing to still the agitation thrumming inside him.
Once again, the system had fallen into one of its maddening silences that cursed gap between fragments of memory, leaving him stranded in a no man's land between yesterday and now, between knowing and merely guessing.
Behind the wooden counter, Frederick moved with the practiced skill of a man who had brewed tea all his life. Wrinkled hands measured leaves with precision, judged the temperature just by looking at it, and coaxed the liquid into glasses with the faint chime of metal on glass.
It had always seemed strange to Rudra. a British man spending his final years selling tea in the dusty corners of Scaredford, far from the wealthier landscapes he could have chosen. India still fought to become the country it dreamt of being. Yet perhaps Frederick grasped a kind of belonging that had nothing to do with passports or prosperity.
A sharp metallic snap jolted Rudra from his thoughts. The faintly glowing system interface reappeared in the air before him, stuttering to life like one of those dreadful second generation smartphones from years past the kind that stalled mid scroll, lagged at the worst moments, and froze as though mocking the patience of their owners. This one buffered endlessly before coughing up more of its hidden memories.
Only when its slow, digital excavation ended would it let him watch.
[CONTINUE]
Click…
"Finish what we started."
We. Not I.
The truth hit Danny like a sudden wave breaking over rocks fury and a dark, hollow sense of triumph mingling in his chest.
For half a decade, Danny had lived with suspicion gnawing at his insides, convinced that his father's end was no accident.
Now, the fragments Rudra was gathering began to harden into something real darker, fouler than he had dared imagine.
SP Rajveer Sharma. Kanika's father. His hands weren't clean either.
The thought twisted Danny's gut, leaving a bitter aftertaste of betrayal and disgust. How could he have missed it? How could he have ever shared laughter with the daughter of the man who helped take his father away?
Yet memories were slippery things. Perhaps he'd misheard. Perhaps grief was bending facts into shadows. Perhaps his mind was building an accusation out of air.
He needed more than whispers from the past. He needed facts that could not be denied.
"Five years ago." That phrase hung in his thoughts like a noose. Five years ago, his life had splintered. Five years ago, Vinod had supposedly taken ten lakhs from Rajendra a claim Danny had never believed. Five years ago, the Rajmahal had spat them out like unwanted strays.
But what did Rajendra mean by should have ended what started five years ago?
There was only one road to an answer, and it meant becoming something Danny had never been before a patient predator, moving unnoticed through the streets he thought he knew.
Two weeks dissolved into a blur of watching and waiting. Danny became the man's shadow, learning his habits with the dedication of a monk memorising scripture.
Morning walks at Har Ki Pauri exactly 6 AM. Breakfast at a roadside stall near the collector's office. And always, without fail, those quiet trips to Hotel Taj Ganga every second day.
He bought a cheap notebook and filled it with details. The white Ambassador parked beneath the Neem tree at precisely 2:30 PM. Room 103 swallowed Rajendra for exactly two hours. The hotel ledger called them "business meetings." He came out with whiskey on his breath and a smug look carved into his features.
Patterns like this weren't accidents. They were camouflage.
Twice during those days, Kanika's name flashed on his phone. Her recorded voice was soft, even worried:
"Danny, where are you? I'm sorry about that day. Are you alright? Please call me."
Each time, he hovered over the green button before killing the phone entirely. What could he say? That her uncle was the reason his home had been destroyed? That her father the "honourable" SP might have helped bury Vinod?
The weight of it sat on him like a sack of wet sand. Nights were sleepless; the ceiling stains began to feel like eyes staring back.
His mother noticed.
"What's troubling you, Danny?" she asked more than once.
"Nothing, Maa. Thinking about SSC syllabus," he lied, the words tasting flat.
By Thursday evening, the air had the heavy stillness that comes before a monsoon breaks.
From across the street, he watched the white Ambassador roll up to Hotel Ganga Palace a favourite haunt of the city's politicians. A place where meals were thick with mutton curry, whiskey, and the sound of deals sealed under the table.
The service door, as Danny already knew, was barely defended a lone guard slouched in a sun bleached chair, eyes glued to his phone.
Suresh, an old schoolmate now in housekeeping, had left a spare uniform at Danny's place days earlier. The faded blue shirt hung loose on him, but it would serve.
Heart pounding, he slipped into the service hallways with mop and bucket. The air reeked of phenyl and stale smoke.
Staff didn't look twice. Cleaners were as visible as wallpaper. Poverty, for once, was his disguise.
The VIP rooms sat on the second floor, reachable by a narrow service stair. The boards creaked under his steps. At Room 201, Rajendra's deep voice leaked through the door like smoke curling under a gap.
Earlier, using the master key meant for cleaning crews, Danny had slipped inside and wedged himself into the cramped bathroom. The scent of air freshener battled with marble polish. His legs ached from the wait.
Then came the footsteps. Two sets. SP Sharma. Rajendra.
The latch clicked, chairs scraped.
And Danny heard it
"He should've kept his mouth shut," Rajendra's voice was a slow hiss. "But Vinod thought honesty was his strength."
They were talking about his father. Mr Vinod.
****************************************************
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