Chapter 13: The Meeting with Vikram (3)

Ramesh sat there, his mind racing. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in on him as the weight of Vikram's ultimatum settled over him. He couldn't lose this chance. He couldn't let Chameli down. But he couldn't risk her either. There had to be another way. His thoughts tumbled over one another, a chaotic storm of fear and desperation. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms, as if the physical pain could ground him, help him think clearly.

Vikram watched him with a cold, detached expression, his cigarette burning down to the filter between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily upward, dissipating into the stale air of the room. He didn't rush Ramesh, didn't push him. He didn't need to. The silence was enough—a heavy, suffocating silence that made Ramesh's heart pound in his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, Ramesh finally spoke. His voice was low, hesitant, as if he were testing the words before letting them out. "What if I give you something else?" he said, his tone barely above a whisper. "Something just as valuable."

Vikram raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from indifference to mild curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, the cigarette still dangling from his fingers. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with a dangerous edge.

Ramesh hesitated, his throat dry. He could feel the weight of Vikram's gaze, the unspoken threat in his silence. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Information," he said finally, the word hanging in the air like a fragile thread. "I know things—about my competitors, about the market. I can give you names, details. You can use it to expand your operations."

Vikram's expression didn't change, but Ramesh could see the gears turning behind his cold, calculating eyes. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly for a moment before he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Information, huh?" he said, his tone thoughtful. "And what makes you think your information is worth anything to us?"

Ramesh leaned forward, his desperation giving way to a flicker of determination. "I've been in this business for years," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I know the players, the deals, the weak points. I can give you everything you need to take control of the shipping routes, the warehouses, the suppliers. You'll have the upper hand."

Vikram studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing. Ramesh forced himself to hold it, to not look away. He couldn't afford to show weakness, not now. Finally, Vikram leaned back in his chair, a slow, deliberate motion. "Alright," he said, his tone casual, as if they were discussing the weather. "But if you fail, we take the girl. No excuses."

The words hit Ramesh like a punch to the gut. His stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging deeper into his palms. He wanted to argue, to protest, to scream that he would never let them take Chameli. But he knew it was pointless. Vikram wasn't making a request; he was stating a fact.

Ramesh nodded, the motion stiff and mechanical. "I won't fail," he said, his voice barely audible. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Vikram or himself.

Vikram smirked, a cold, humorless expression that sent a shiver down Ramesh's spine. "We'll see," he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the ember dying with a faint hiss. "But just so we're clear, Deshmukh—if you screw this up, there's no coming back. No second chances. You understand?"