But trust had led me nowhere.
‘I gave you that draft.’ My voice was barely audible. ‘Before anyone else. You reviewed it. Gave me your notes. But you never returned that file.’
His expression shifted. Not guilt. Or maybe guilt in the guise of dignity. ‘I’m going to let this go out of respect for Amar. And because you are clearly drunk and out of your goddamn mind.’
A pressure built beneath my ribs, suffocating me. ‘Where is that file, uncle?’
He preferred physical papers, so I printed it out and gave him a file.
‘If I had really done it, why would I—’
‘I’d like to see it.’ I held his gaze. ‘Now.’
Time seemed to hold still for a moment. He stood there, his jaw set, and walked to his study without a word.
I followed.
The room smelled of old paper and sandalwoodagarbatti. A large mahogany table sat in the middle of his study. Shelves lined with knickknacks and books covered one wall and a three-foot-tall cabinet sat opposite it.
He opened it and began leafing through the files.
I stood by and watched.
If he had scanned it, there’d be a digital trail – an email, a drive, something Arjun could dig out if I asked. If he’d made a copy and handed it over in person, that would be harder. But not impossible.
He stilled. Slowly turned.
The look on his face made my feet feel like concrete.
‘I’d put it in there,’ he said. He was pointing at the cabinet, but not looking at it anymore. His eyes were on me. ‘I’m sure of it. Books go on the shelves and files in the cabinet.’
‘Then where is it?’
His eyes moved from the cabinet to his desk to the shelves and back again. ‘I … I might have misfiled it. Or …’ He exhaled. ‘It’s in here. No one comes in my office, Jai.’
My fists clenched.
I was wrong earlier. Trust led me here. To this room. To watching a man I’d known my whole life fumble for an explanation that kept slipping through his fingers.
‘Jai.’ His voice dropped. ‘You have to believe me. I haven’t given Rekha anything. I can barely stand the woman. I only ever see her on special occasions – like that dinner for Rivaayat. She—’ He abruptly stopped talking.
The silence stretched.
His eyebrows drew closer.
‘Unless …’ He shook his head once. ‘No, no, that’s—’
But he was already settling into his chair, reaching for the mouse. The computer screen cast a pale light on his face.
‘Maybe,’ he said, more to himself than me.
‘What are you doing?’ I moved behind him, looking at the screen over his shoulder.
‘Checking something,’ he said, his voice growing confident.
He opened an app that had a list of dates. He scrolled down and clicked on 19 March 2025. It was the day we had come here to celebrate the board’s approval of my proposal.
A CCTV video of this room popped open.
