Cracks in the Facade

June 20, 1980 – A Father's Silent Questions

The journey home from the investment firm was unusually quiet.

Dinesh Mehta, usually full of opinions, didn't speak a word as he walked beside his son through Mumbai's bustling streets. The honking of rickshaws, the distant calls of chai vendors, and the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer echoed through the lanes—but between father and son, there was only silence.

Arjun, hands in his pockets, felt the weight of his father's gaze. He knew what was happening.

Dinesh wasn't angry. He was thinking. Calculating.

Trying to understand the impossible.

"How does an 18-year-old boy, who never showed an interest in business, suddenly walk into an investment firm and talk like an industry veteran?"

Arjun remained composed. He had expected this reaction.

His father was a man of logic. And logic demanded an explanation.

Back Home – A Mother's Concern

When they reached home, Madhavi was waiting by the door, her eyes filled with quiet worry.

"You both took longer than expected," she said, wiping her hands on the end of her saree. "How did it go?"

Dinesh placed his bag on the table, his movements deliberate. "Your son impressed them."

Arjun caught the slight edge in his father's tone.

Madhavi's face lit up. "That's wonderful! I knew he would—"

"It doesn't make sense," Dinesh interrupted.

Madhavi frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dinesh turned to Arjun, his voice calm but firm. "I mean that a boy who has never worked a single day in a real business just debated economic trends with senior investors as if he had been doing it for years."

Arjun met his father's gaze steadily. "I told you, Baba. I study. I learn."

Dinesh shook his head. "No. This is something else. You knew things… things people take decades to understand. I've been in business for years, and even I wouldn't have answered some of those questions so confidently."

Madhavi touched her husband's arm gently. "Dinesh, maybe he just has a gift."

Dinesh exhaled. "Maybe."

But his eyes told a different story.

He didn't believe in miracles. And he wasn't done searching for answers.

Dalal Street – An Unwanted Spotlight

The next day, Arjun arrived at Ramesh Shah's brokerage office just as the markets opened.

The air was thick with anticipation—telephones ringing, traders shouting buy and sell orders, and stock prices flickering across the blackboards in white chalk.

But something was different.

The moment Arjun walked in, conversations dropped to whispers. Traders who had once dismissed him as "Vinod's nephew" were now glancing at him with interest—and something else.

Suspicion.

Ramesh, leaning against his desk, exhaled smoke from his cigarette. "You've made a name for yourself, kid."

Arjun sat down. "That didn't take long."

"Of course not." Ramesh smirked, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. "An 18-year-old predicting stocks like a seasoned investor? People notice."

Vinod Chacha, who had been flipping through his notebook, looked up. "Beta, maybe you should slow down."

Arjun shook his head. "That's not an option."

Vinod sighed. "At least be careful. The more right you are, the more people will want to know how."

Arjun already knew that.

His father wasn't the only one asking questions.

And some people were far more dangerous than Dinesh Mehta.

Nisha's Search for the Truth

Across town, at St. Xavier's College, Nisha sat in the campus library, her notebook open, her mind racing.

For days now, she had been compiling observations, patterns, and facts—all centered around Arjun Mehta.

And it didn't add up.

Not just his sudden financial success.

His mannerisms, his knowledge, his confidence.

It was as if overnight, the boy she had grown up with had become someone else.

Meera, sitting across from her, rolled her eyes. "You're obsessing again."

Nisha tapped her pencil against the table. "And you're ignoring something big."

Meera sighed. "Fine. Let's say Arjun somehow became a stock market genius. How does that mean something is wrong?"

"Because geniuses don't appear out of nowhere." Nisha looked up. "There's a pattern to growth, to learning. Even prodigies have a history of gradual improvement. But Arjun? One day he's just a normal student, and the next he's predicting market trends like he's lived through them."

Meera hesitated.

She had no argument for that.

Finally, she leaned forward. "So what now?"

Nisha closed her notebook. "Now, I get closer."

Meera frowned. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Nisha's lips curled into a small smile.

"By making him trust me."

The First Real Threat

That evening, as Arjun walked home through the narrow lanes of Girgaon, he felt it.

Someone was watching him.

He kept his steps steady, his heartbeat controlled.

Then, just before turning a corner, he suddenly pivoted—catching a man in a brown blazer standing near a paan stall, pretending to read a newspaper.

Their eyes met.

Arjun didn't react, but inside, alarm bells rang.

The man wasn't from the neighborhood. His posture was too stiff, his gaze too focused.

Not a casual observer.

A watcher.

Arjun kept walking, but his mind was already racing.

Who was following him? And what did they want?