part 9

"Sir, your courier has arrived," the office peon said as he entered Darren's cabin and placed an A4-sized envelope on his desk.

"When did it arrive?" Darren's gaze instinctively shifted to the office wall clock, which showed three o'clock.

"Yesterday," the peon replied.

"What time yesterday?" Darren reached out, picked up the yellow envelope from the table, and weighed it in his hand before asking the next question.

"It arrived in the evening."

"Then why didn't you give it to me yesterday itself?"

"Because you had already left for home by then."

"Alright," Darren dismissed the peon and then turned his attention back to the envelope in his hand.

There wasn't much weight to it. It had no sender's name or address, nor did it bear any postal or courier company's stamp or seal. It seemed like someone had prepared the envelope and, instead of sending it via mail, had personally delivered it to the office door.

Curious, Darren felt the envelope with his fingers and realized there were some papers inside.

"What is this?" he wondered as he opened it.

As he did, a few colorful sheets suddenly slipped out and fell to the ground. Darren pushed back the wheels of his revolving chair and reached down to pick them up.

They were photographs.

Photographs of Neeta.

In very revealing clothes, with a man.

Who was the man?

The pictures had been taken in dim lighting, making it impossible to identify the man's face. But despite that, Darren immediately recognized Neeta.

In an instant, he understood the whole situation, and his face turned red with rage. He quickly slid the five photographs back into the envelope and locked them in his desk drawer.

Neeta's pictures had shaken him to his core. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he wiped his face with trembling hands, trying to control the storm of emotions brewing inside him. Then, he stood up from his cabin chair and stepped out of the office building.

He reached an empty spot outside the office, thought for a moment, and then pulled out his mobile phone. Scrolling through his contact list, he dialed a number saved under "F.D.I." The call was answered instantly.

F.D.I. – Fairdeal Investigations.

"Hello," Darren said cautiously.

"Hello, sir," a familiar voice responded. "I assume you've received our report."

"Yes, I have," Darren tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "I haven't read it yet, but I've got it."

"The suspicion was correct."

"No need to go through it."

"The report is in your hands, and I have also forwarded a soft copy to your personal email."

"And the pictures?"

"There are a total of five pictures, of which only one hard copy was printed and sent to you along with the report."

"I received them."

"The rest of the pictures' soft copies are stored in our office records."

"Why do you still have them?"

"Because that's the rule," the voice replied. "We store every investigation detail in our records."

"Why?"

"As per a set protocol," the voice explained. "In case the details are needed again in the future."

"And if the client doesn't want that?"

"Then no problem."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if the client does not wish for the data to be stored, we permanently delete all electronic records from our systems."

"And they can't be retrieved afterward?"

"Any deleted data cannot be easily recovered under normal circumstances," the voice assured. "But if someone with a specific motive and expertise deliberately tries to retrieve deleted files, that's a different matter."

"I understand."

"You yourself are from this field and know more about computers than we do."

"Other than your computers, do these reports and pictures exist anywhere else?"

"No," the voice confirmed. "They don't, and they won't."

Darren knew that was impossible. He was a computer expert, a hardware engineer, and he understood well that once data was uploaded, it was buried forever in the email service provider's servers, retrievable whenever necessary.

Even if one deleted it from their computer or email, it still remained somewhere.

However, retrieving such data was a complex process and was not commonly done.

"What are the next instructions?"

"Nothing," Darren snapped out of his thoughts and steadied himself. "Consider this your final assignment."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning this case is closed for now. Stop tracking the girl."

"And the records?"

"Are all the electronic copies stored only on your computer?"

"Yes, I just told you."

"Delete them."

"Consider it done," the voice replied. "But there will be an additional charge for that."

"How much?"

A figure was mentioned over the phone.

"I agree."

"Then there's no issue! Consider it done."

"I'll forward the payment."

"You can come to the office and pay in the evening," the voice suggested. "No rush."

"No, I won't be able to come in the evening."

"Then?"

"I'll make the payment online."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"That's even better."

"But I don't want any mistakes or negligence in my request."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't want the payment to be taken while the data still remains intact."

"That doesn't happen," the voice assured. "This is Fairdeal Investigations, and we only deal fairly."

"But…!"

"But if you still have doubts and need solid confirmation, you're welcome to visit and watch the process yourself."

"No need for that," Darren said, exuding trust. "I take your word for it."

"Then be assured, sir."

"I'm making the payment now."

"Go ahead."

"If needed, I'll contact you again."

"Our pleasure, sir."

Darren disconnected the call and thought about Neeta.

For her, he had betrayed his wife. For her, he had built a whole different world. And she…!

There's a fundamental difference between raising a dog and raising a cat.

When people feed, shelter, and shower their dogs with affection, the dogs see them as gods and would lay down their lives for them.

But when people do the same for their cats, the foolish creatures assume they are the supreme masters of their owners.