The villa echoed with laughter.
For weeks, the Shadow Council had grown desperate, flailing in disinformation, lawsuits, and shortages. Now, at last, they felt the tide had turned.
"Look at the streets," one magnate said, swirling his glass of wine. "They no longer chant his name. They chant against him. Equalizer is poison now. He is poison."
A banker leaned forward, his eyes sharp with cruel glee. "Receipts have lost their power. The people fear them. Truth itself has been made fragile. He stayed silent, and silence killed him."
The oldest among them smiled, his lips thin as blades. "We have broken faith. That is victory. Without faith, receipts are nothing but paper."
They raised their glasses to toast the death of truth.
And across the ocean, in a dimly lit office in Mumbai, Arjun closed his notebook with deliberate calm.
Equalizer pulsed a cold warning across the room:
"Counterstrike authorization required. Passive survival probability: 14%."
Arjun placed his pen neatly on the desk. He whispered, almost to himself:
"It's time."
For months, Equalizer had been quietly storing, indexing, preparing. Every bribe logged. Every offshore transfer traced. Every shadow contract mirrored. The system had been patient, waiting.
Now, with a single gesture, Arjun authorized the release.
The Transparent Newsroom lit up like a city at dawn.
One story. Then ten. Then a hundred.
Headlines roared across the homepage:
"The Ledgers of Lies: Inside the Council's Shell Empires"
"The Ghost Hospitals: $2 Billion in Phantom Clinics"
"The Media Puppets: How Anchors Were Paid to Spin"
"The Poisoned Wells: Council-Linked Shortages Exposed"
Each headline came with receipts. Not rumors, not allegations — proof. Bank transfers. GPS logs. Photos. Testimonies. Contracts. Every claim was linked to public ledgers anyone could verify.
It wasn't a story. It was a tidal wave.
The Council struck back instantly. Anchors shouted on live TV: "These are forgeries! Lies!" Politicians thundered: "Foreign interference!" Lawyers filed emergency injunctions.
But none of it mattered.
In Chennai, a farmer held up his phone, showing the ledger that proved the government had been paid for irrigation pumps that never arrived. "Go check the field yourself," he told the cameras. "The pumps aren't here. The receipt is real. The lie is theirs."
In Kolkata, a nurse waved her pay stubs before journalists. "For years, I was told there was no money for salaries. Now the receipts show billions diverted. Tell me — who is the liar?"
Even international watchdogs confirmed the data. Banks in Switzerland admitted transfers were real. Satellite images confirmed "invisible bridges" were dirt tracks. The receipts were undeniable.
The propaganda wall cracked. Then it shattered.
The tidal wave carried names with it.
A shipping magnate who had hoarded medicine during the shortages, his warehouses bursting with supplies even as hospitals starved. Receipts traced every shipment, every payoff. Within 24 hours, raids seized the stockpiles.
A media mogul who had secretly received $500 million in "consultancy fees" for directing anchors to smear Aequalis. His bank accounts, contracts, and private emails lay bare for all to see.
A banker whose offshore shell companies had quietly siphoned away $20 billion — money stolen from loan repayments. The receipts connected the dots so clearly that even rival banks joined in exposing him.
Arrest warrants spread like fire. In one week, half the Council was in hiding. Private jets fled at midnight. Others were detained at airports.
For decades, they had lived untouchable. Now they were naked, their secrets turned to chains.
On the seventh day, the streets erupted.
In Delhi, thousands marched not against receipts, but with them. They carried banners painted with numbers, contracts, bank IDs. They chanted: "Receipts are freedom!"
In Mumbai, workers went on strike at a corrupt steel plant. They held up Equalizer logs showing stolen wages. The factory caved within hours, restoring pay.
In Patna, students marched into their university's office and confronted administrators. "Here are the receipts," they said. "You took our fees, but you never gave us degrees. We will not leave until you deliver."
The phrase "Check the ledger" became more than a slogan. It became a habit. At markets, at schools, at banks — every transaction, every promise, people demanded proof.
The Shadow Council had tried to poison trust. Instead, they had made truth a muscle.
In the Maruzhal mansion, Arjun's father sat before the television. His children crowded around, whispering in awe as news anchors stammered over the collapse of giants they had once feared.
He said nothing. His eyes were locked on the screen.
For years, he had called his son reckless. A dreamer. A fool. For years, he had mocked him, cut him out, dismissed him as weak.
But now, as the world shook, he understood.
His son had never needed to defend himself. He had never needed to shout, to argue, to posture. He had simply let truth fight its own war.
And truth had won.
For the first time in his life, the father bowed his head. Not in shame. Not in defeat. But in reluctant, unspoken respect.
Priya burst into Arjun's office, breathless.
"You've done it!" she cried. "The Council is finished. Their lies are ashes. The people see the truth!"
Arjun turned from the window, his face calm.
"I did nothing," he said softly. "I only opened the mirror. They broke themselves when they saw their reflection."
Priya stared at him, tears brimming. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was the one who saved them. But she knew he would never take that crown.
Equalizer pulsed bright across the room, its voice steady, almost triumphant:
"System Integrity Restored. Public Trust Index: 91% (historic high). Shadow Council Activity: collapsed. Advisory: Transition to Post-Crisis Governance recommended."
Arjun nodded once. Then he opened his notebook and wrote:
"Truth delayed is not truth denied. It waits, patient, until the lies consume themselves."
He closed the book.
Outside, the world roared in celebration. Inside, Arjun sat quietly, letting the storm of victory pass him by.
The villa where the Shadow Council once laughed now stood empty, curtains fluttering in the wind.
Their mirrors were shattered. Their lies lay in ruins.
And across the world, a new chant echoed louder than propaganda, stronger than fear:
"Show receipts or shut up!"