The black Mercedes S-Class slowed to a halt outside a heavily fortified gate in Jubilee Hills, Road No. 45. The sign on the granite pillar was small but carried immense weight: Jaidev, IPS. Director General of Police.
Arjun sat in the back, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. He wore a charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt, and a navy tie. No sunglasses. No swagger. He needed to look like a man who built skyscrapers, not one who broke bones.
"Stay here," Arjun said to Shiva. "If I take a bodyguard inside, it looks like guilt. If I go alone, it looks like confidence."
"He has Z-category security, Bhai," Shiva warned, scanning the perimeter where commandos with AK-47s stood guard. "If things go wrong, we can't get you out."
"Things won't go wrong," Arjun opened the door. "I'm just delivering a card."
Arjun walked to the gate. The security check was thorough. Metal detectors, pat-downs, identity verification. He endured it with a polite smile.
"Arjun. CEO, Mahaa Enterprises," he told the head constable. "I have an appointment."
He didn't have an appointment, but he had Aisha.
Ten minutes later, he was escorted into the living room. It was vast, filled with books and antique furniture. It smelled of sandalwood and discipline.
DGP Jaidev sat on a leather armchair, reading a file. He was a man in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that were known to make politicians stutter. He didn't look up immediately. He let Arjun stand there for a full minute—a power move.
Finally, Jaidev closed the file and removed his reading glasses.
"Mahaa Enterprises," Jaidev said, his voice deep and calm. "You're the one making noise in the city. Buying movies, buying land, buying theaters."
"Investments, Sir," Arjun corrected gently. "Not noise."
"I checked your background a little," Jaidev stood up. He was tall, bearing the posture of a man who had worn a uniform for thirty years. "Arjun. Son of Dr. Vikram. You went missing eight years ago after the accident."
"I went to the US, Sir," Arjun lied without blinking, leaning on the backstory he had paid millions to construct. "My father's legal team took me in. I studied, worked, and claimed my inheritance. Now I'm back to invest in my home."
Jaidev studied him. He was looking for the cracks. He was looking for the street thug, but he only saw the polished exterior of a grieving son making good.
"Your father was a good man," Jaidev said, softening slightly. "He had a vision for a hospital. It's a tragedy what happened."
"I intend to finish his work, Sir," Arjun said somberly. "But first, I need to build the capital."
He pulled out the velvet invitation card.
"We are releasing our first film, Veta. The premiere is tomorrow at Prasad's IMAX. It would be an honor if you and your family could attend as Chief Guests."
Jaidev looked at the card, then back at Arjun. "I don't go to film parties. They are full of people who think money places them above the law."
"This isn't a party, Sir. It's a statement," Arjun met his gaze. "That a new company can operate in this city without bowing to the syndicates. Your presence would send a message that the police support legitimate business."
It was a trap of logic. If Jaidev refused, he was letting the syndicates win.
Before Jaidev could respond, footsteps echoed on the stairs.
"Dad? Who is it?"
Aisha walked into the living room. She was wearing casual home clothes, her hair in a messy bun. She stopped dead when she saw Arjun.
"Arjun?" she gasped.
Jaidev looked at his daughter, then at Arjun. His eyebrows narrowed instantly. "You know him?"
Arjun turned, offering a polite, surprised smile. "Aisha. I didn't know this was your house."
"We... we met at the Art Gallery," Aisha stammered, walking forward, her face flushing slightly. "We had coffee. I told you about him, Dad. The one who lived in New York."
Jaidev's suspicion didn't vanish, but it shifted. The "Stranger" was now an "Acquaintance."
"I see," Jaidev said, his tone unreadable.
"I was just inviting your father to my movie premiere," Arjun said to Aisha. "I didn't realize the connection. Small world."
"You produced Veta?" Aisha looked impressed.
"Distributed," Arjun corrected. "You should come. I think you'll find the cinematography... interesting."
He looked back at Jaidev.
"I won't take more of your time, Sir. I hope to see you there."
Arjun placed the invitation on the table. He didn't wait for an answer. He nodded respectfully to Jaidev, smiled once at Aisha—a smile that made her heart race—and walked out.
When the door closed, Jaidev picked up the card. He ran his thumb over the gold lettering.
"He's charming," Aisha said, trying to sound casual.
"He's too polished," Jaidev muttered, looking at the closed door. "A man who rises that fast usually leaves footprints. I just haven't found them yet."
He tossed the card to Aisha.
"We'll go."
"Really?"
"Yes," Jaidev walked to the window, watching Arjun's Mercedes drive away. "I want to see who stands next to him."
February 17, 2012. 7:30 PM. Prasad's IMAX.
The atmosphere was electric.
Huge floodlights swept the sky. A red carpet stretched from the driveway to the massive glass atrium of the theater. Fans were screaming behind the barricades. The paparazzi were fighting for position.
This was the biggest premiere Hyderabad had seen in years, fueled by the controversy and the mystery of the new producer.
Inside the VIP lounge, Arjun stood adjusting his cufflinks. He wore a black tuxedo, tailored to perfection. He looked every inch the billionaire scion.
"Security check," Arjun spoke into his lapel mic.
"Perimeter secure," Shiva's voice crackled in his ear. "Mallesh has men in the projection room, the exits, and the parking lot. Metal detectors are active."
"And Satya?"
"Quiet. Too quiet."
"Keep your eyes open. He won't attack the crowd. He'll try to embarrass us."
Arjun walked out onto the red carpet. The cameras flashed, a blinding storm of white light. He waved, smiled, and shook hands with the industry bigwigs who had suddenly found the courage to show up once they realized Satya wasn't burning the place down.
A black government SUV with a siren pulled up. The crowd went silent, then murmured.
DGP Jaidev stepped out, looking imposing in a formal suit. Aisha stepped out next to him.
She looked stunning. She wore a dark blue saree that matched the night sky, diamonds sparkling at her throat.
Arjun walked down the steps to receive them.
"Sir," Arjun shook Jaidev's hand. "Thank you for coming."
"I'm here for the popcorn," Jaidev said dryly. "And to make sure your traffic management doesn't block the road."
Arjun turned to Aisha.
"You look beautiful, Aisha," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough to be intimate.
Aisha smiled, looking down. "You clean up well too, New Yorker."
They walked into the theater.
As they entered the main hall, Arjun felt a vibration in his pocket. His phone.
He checked it surreptitiously.
It was a text message. Unknown number.
"Enjoy the show. The interval will be hot."
Arjun's eyes narrowed. He looked up at the balcony.
"Shiva," Arjun whispered into his mic. "Code Red. Check the fire suppression system. Now."
He guided Aisha and Jaidev to the front row, pulling out a chair for her. He smiled, acting the perfect host.
But inside, the calculator was running. Satya wasn't going to shoot anyone. He was going to sabotage the screening.
"Is everything okay?" Aisha asked, noticing his tight jaw.
"Perfect," Arjun lied, sitting next to her. "Just hoping the audience likes the ending."
The lights dimmed. The screen lit up. The logo of Mahaa Enterprises roared to life with the sound of a lion.
Arjun didn't watch the screen. He watched the shadows in the corners of the hall.
The movie had started. But the real show was about to begin.