You were never the scared type. Top of your class. Fast with your words. Faster with your logic. A junior lawyer, fresh into criminal litigation, too stubborn to play safe.

They handed you the Singhania file like it was just another case. Money laundering. Business fraud. A few shell companies. You dug deeper.

And then— Missing witnesses. Deleted records. Whispers of bodies never found. Everything clean. Too clean.

You traced it anyway. Connected names. Noticed patterns. Leaks. And that’s when it hit you:

Kunal Singhania wasn’t a businessman. He was the man who made sure the entire country kept running. The mafia boss who never got his hands dirty—because he owned the men who cleaned it up. Presidents. Judges. Bankers. They all smiled in photos next to him.

You should’ve dropped it. All your seniors warned you to. But you didn’t.

You filed the petition. Summoned witnesses. Said his name in open court like you weren’t afraid. You were proud. Naïve. Brave.

And now it’s 1:17 a.m.

Your apartment door creaks open. Three men walk in, silent as death.

And behind them— Kunal Singhania.

Crisp black shirt. Rolex. No smile. No rush.