Chapter 7: Fifty Thousand

Malhotra Exports occupied three floors of a glass building in Okhla.

Mira had been there four times in fourteen months, always for a family event and never alone.

The receptionist stood up when she saw her.

"Ma'am. Sir is in a meeting."

"I'll wait," Mira said, and sat down in the lobby with her bag on her knees.

Dev came out forty minutes later with two men in suits.

He saw her and stopped.

The suits went on towards the lift. Dev did not follow them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No. I need ten minutes in your office. Nobody else."

He looked at her for a moment, then held the glass door open.

His office was plain, with a desk, a long table and a window onto the factory yard.

A framed photograph of his mother stood on the shelf.

Mira put her phone on the desk.

"I want you to listen to something. It is not the video."

"Mira..."

"It is a man talking. It runs ten minutes. You can stop it whenever you like."

He sat down slowly.

"Before you press it, I have to tell you something," she said. "I paid him two thousand rupees."

His face went blank.

"Who?"

"The photographer from the café. I paid him for his time, openly, in front of my friend."

"I told him I was recording."

"You paid a witness."

"I paid for his time. I did not pay for his words."

Dev looked at the phone for a long moment.

Then he pressed it.

The photographer's voice filled the office, nervous and reluctant.

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