And in the cafeteria at NCST, Sakshi sat hunched over her laptop, scrolling through page after page about the Horseman group. Nothing useful. No history, no proper accounts, no leaked reports — nothing. Her expression already showed the defeat.
Right now she was stuck staring at their balance sheet. A company losing billions for years, yet the stock price barely twitched. A dip here, a dip there, then right back up like nothing happened. Finance wasn't her strongest area, and even she knew this sheet looked too clean.
Her head throbbed. She kept hearing the Horseman boss's voice in her head — calm, polite, and quietly terrifying. Anyone owning multiple billion-dollar companies could make a person rethink their bravery. Still… she knew there had to be something. Some crack she could pry open.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
A voice suddenly hit her ear.
"Whatcha doing?"
Her eyes snapped open. And of course — DJ.
"What do you want?" she muttered, still half-asleep.
"What I want," he said, dragging a chair, "is like… five minutes of your day so we can go watch the new Krrish movie."
"I don't wanna watch that game-cinematic-cutscene nonsense anymore. First one was awful. Second one, even more."
"Yeah, I mean — true. Director played himself."
"What do you expect from Bollywood?" she shot back.
"Maybe they should sue him."
"Definitely. Anyway, I've got work. Please leave."
He made a dramatic sigh.
"Telling me to go away… sad life. And here I was planning a night stroll after the movie." He paused, squinting at her face. "Why do you look like your dad invented an app that removes Instagram filters?"
She gave him a tired glare. "Not in the mood, DJ. I'm busy."
"Okay, okay. No jokes. But at least tell me what's stressing you out. You look like a cat thrown into a swimming pool."
She exhaled. "You're not gonna leave, are you?"
He smiled — answer delivered.
She turned the laptop toward him.
"I'm checking the balance sheet of a company I'm researching. And I found absolutely nothing suspicious, which is… actually suspicious. They're hiding something, I can feel it."
DJ scrolled for a few seconds, eyebrows raised.
"You're looking at it the wrong way."
"What do you mean?"
"If you wanna catch something illegal, first see where the money comes from."
She leaned a little closer.
"Most of this is listed as 'services'," he continued, tapping the screen. "Which could mean literally anything. A salon can earn one dollar or ten million — all white money. Same with movies. Think of those trash films that turn into 'superhits.' Wonder why? Someone flushes black money in them. Book a few thousand seats in cash, boom — blockbuster."
She blinked. "That… actually makes sense."
"And this firm here? Same trick. Tons of vague 'services' payments. No descriptions. Big inflows. No clear source. Looks like converted black money. Then they lend that money out as property-secured loans with interest so low it's practically charity. Classic legalised laundering."
He kept scrolling.
"And these huge expenses? Could be them inflating costs to hide the real flow. It's textbook bookkeeping magic."
She suddenly snatched the laptop.
"They're giving loans against property rights. Can we check what properties?"
"No. That's private info. Clients won't talk, either. But if you find names somewhere, we can push them. You have your brother, remember?" he added with a small smirk.
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. What are you doing today?"
"Me? Nothing. Just admiring your smiling face."
She gave a small laugh despite herself.
"Where's Rony? Haven't seen him around."
"Oh, he's busy tinkering with his… whatever. Science stuff."
"Right, I wanted him to fix my camera. It keeps clicking weirdly."
"He made it? Then no way it's faulty."
"I might've dropped it… once. Or twice."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like someone who breaks things."
"I was distracted."
"By what?"
"Work's rough. And my boss is always busy. I barely see him."
"Raghav? What about him — still flirting? Dude's what, forty?"
She chuckled. "No, no. He treats me like a little sister. Just making sure his childhood friend doesn't make a fool of himself again."
"You're never gonna let that go, huh."
"Nope." The answer came quick.
A pause settled between them.
"So which company is this, anyway?" he asked.
"It's just a project. Research stuff."
"Sure, don't tell me." He shrugged. "Then at least tell me about that scarf. You always wear it. I know it's from your mom, but why is it so special?"
She looked down at the scarf, fingers brushing the edge.
"It's the last thing I have of her."
DJ leaned back, tone softening. "How did—"
"How did she die?" she finished for him.
"Car accident. No one knows what exactly happened. Dad never told me."
Silence hung between them. Her smile was small but heavy.
"I keep this," she said quietly, "to remind me who I am. And why I do my job."
"And what's that?" he asked.
"To make this world a little better. For everyone."
DJ whistled. "And here I was thinking only about myself."
"That's not a bad thing," she said. "Hard times make people do that. And look — we're both orphans in a way."
She tried to laugh, but nothing came out. She grimaced.
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Yeah, you shouldn't," he said bluntly.
An awkward silence settled. Saved only when his phone buzzed. Work.
He stood up. Before leaving, he leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.
She jerked back. "Hey! We're not at that point!"
He just waved without turning.
"Yet." Outside Dj picked up the phone, it was his friend.
"Carry—" DJ started, but the line cut him off.
"Where did you get that money?"
DJ froze. "What happened?"
"What happened? My ass is on fire and I'm packing bags. That's what."
"Can you talk properly? It's just laundering. Shouldn't be a big deal."
"There's no issue with the money. The issue is the people behind it. Whoever you took it from is hunting for it like a rabid dog. The manpower they've moved… no one does that for pocket change. Was something else in that bag?"
DJ felt his stomach drop. Pieces clicked.
"The pull-water," he muttered.
"There was a cylinder. I gave it to Rony. But why are you leaving the city? What about our hundred-million plan? Don't you know how much I waited for something like this!"
"Who cares about the plan? I like breathing. And you should too. Keep a low profile. They have you on drawing—in the mask—but once you step outside, you're done."
DJ's voice sharpened. "Carry, we talked about this. You said you could handle one percent of that amount. Now suddenly you can't?"
"I can handle it. I just don't want to die for it. They're looking for us. For you. The timing sucks."
DJ scoffed. "Delicate? We've done far worse. You can't chicken out now."
"I'm not chickening out. I'm saying postpone."
"For how long?"
"At least six months. Any sooner and we're dead."
"Six months?" DJ raised his voice. "The money will be gone by then! This is the thing, Carry. The big one. The one we planned for."
"Life that we wanted? If we're dead, we get nothing. Forget it. It's not the first time we've bailed."
"But what if they shift it?"
"Then we find the next one. DJ, these aren't street guys. They're the kind of people we don't mess with."
DJ finally quieted, jaw tight.
"…Fine. I'll wait."
He hung up, but his expression didn't soften.
Back at his luxury apartment, smoke curled above him as he stared at the pile of bills on the table. The door opened and his maid walked in—short skirt, hair tied neatly, expression blank, clearly used to seeing money dumped everywhere.
She started vacuuming like nothing was unusual.
"What happened, sir? You haven't done this in a while," she said over the noise.
DJ crushed his cigarette. "Nothing, Natalie. Just business."
"Using my name now? Must be a girl." she teased.
He gave a dry chuckle. "You can say that."
A moment passed. DJ leaned back, eyes still glued to the money.
"Nat," he said suddenly, "what would you do if the opportunity you always wanted was right in front of you, but taking it meant risking everything?"
She paused the vacuum, thinking. "I wouldn't. I have a stable job. Stable life. I won't gamble that for something uncertain."
DJ almost rolled his eyes. "Really? Working for others… letting them stare at you?"
She set the brush down and faced him, showing her body. "That's all I have. A body to stare at. I'm past the age where opportunities matter, sir."
DJ glanced at the cash again, almost hugging the thought of it.
"What if I gave you this money? What would you do?"
She looked at the table. "Run away with it."
His eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"Do you really think I get to keep my salary?" She turned, and he saw a red mark under her shirt, which she tried to conceal with make-up.
"I thought you lived alone."
"With my kids."
"You have a child?" he asked, surprised.
"Two. Twins."
"Wait—you're what, twenty-five?"
"It's rude to ask a lady her age, sir. But HR told you that already."
"They also told me you're unmarried."
"Still am."
"Boyfriend?"
"He ran away after doing his job."
"So who do you live with?"
"My parents."
DJ hummed, not really listening—his eyes drifted back to the money.
"Why don't you marry someone?"
She smirked. "Would you marry me?"
"If you'd asked a month earlier? Maybe."
She laughed under her breath. "I'm trying. But things aren't simple."
"They never are," he muttered, staring at the cash like it was oxygen.
And sometimes later, he was still looking at the money, and the lights of the entire room dimmed. And after a point he couldn't stand and stood.
" Alright fine, let's check it one last time."