The Countdown Begins (Part - I)

Chapter - 19

A few minutes later, the sound of heavy boots echoed in the corridor. 

Cockroach leaned back in his chair, a thick cigar burning between his fingers. Smoke swirled lazily around him, filling the air with the rich scent of tobacco. His eyes turned towards the door as hushed voices spilled in from the hallway.

A few breathes later, the door swung open and a man in a rugged brown jacket stepped inside, his expression hard as a rock.

"You can't go in… Stop…" A young lady also followed behind him, trying to stop that uninvited man, "Sir, I tried to…"

"Let him be," But Cockroach just raised his hand and the woman hesitated, then bowed towards him and left.

"Welcome, Mr…whatever the fuck your name is. What took you so long? Traffic?" His lips twisted into a smug grin as he took a drag from his cigar. 

The investigator didn't flinch by the taunts. He was an older man in his late forties or early fifties. He locked eyes with Cockroach, a smirk forming on his face, "Nothing much. Just making sure I have a team ready to catch you red-handed this time, Ibrahim Ansari."

Cockroach let out a quiet chuckle, "Ah, full name treatment. You must be in a mood," He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

He let out a slow exhale, the smoke forming a cloud between them, "Tell me Mr No Name Cop. How many times do I have to tell you, those before you and the worms who will come after you? You are just wasting your time. You will never find anything here, dear."

"You would think you all would get tired of embarrassing yourself by now," Cockroach mockingly chuckled looking at the investigator.

"Don't get friendly with me, Ansari," The investigator smirked, "I won't leave you even if you begged me on all fours. Just give up already."

With a swift motion, he turned toward his men, "Start searching. Everything. Don't leave a single goddamn corner unchecked."

Those men behind the investigator were hesitant to move, but under the glare of the investigator, they started overturning furniture, ripping through drawers, and scanning every document. 

The Cockroach was unbothered, leaned back, and took another drag from his cigar, blowing the smoke in the investigator's face.

Soon minutes turned into an hour. The investigator's men checked every office in the building, every inch of every office, every computer in the building or every file… but there was nothing. No evidence, no records, no fucking proof that could be used against Ibrahim.

"Sir…" One of the officers hesitated, looking at his superior, "There… There is nothing here."

The investigator's jaw clenched. He wasn't expecting this outcome, not this time. 

"Check again," he ordered his voice like steel, "Everything."

The officers exchanged uneasy glances but still obeyed, scattering around the room once more. The investigator didn't wait for them either… His hands moved over the desk, searching through files, pulling out drawers. 

He flipped through every sheet of paper, checked under furniture, and even stomped his boot against the marble floor, listening for any hollow sound.

But still there was Nothing.

Across the room, the Cockroach was standing, With one hand in the pocket, and a thick cigar resting between the fingers of his other hand, "Try, try you punks."

"You don't give up, do you?" He mused, tapping ash onto the carpet, "Tell me, you dear bastard… How Long have you been behind me? 1 month? 6 months? 1 year? More? You aren't one of those crazy stalkers of mine, are you?"

The investigator didn't reply, his teeth grinding against each other. He moved to the bookshelf, and started pulling out different books, searching for any hidden compartment. Yet the result was the same... Nothing.

He let out a soft whistle, shaking his head, "You are making a fool of yourself," he took another drag, his eyes gleaming with amusement. 

"I have to say, I admire the persistence. But let's be real… You are never going to find anything, It's better you leave now. I have been more than enough welcoming of you bunch."

One of the officers sighed, stepping back, "Sir… Still nothing. We checked everywhere."

The investigator turned to face Ibrahim, aka the Cockroach, looking at him with a smug smile playing mischievously on his face. 

"See?" the Cockroach exhaled another cloud of smoke, his grin widening, "Told you. You're just wasting your time, you fucking idiot."

The investigator's hands curled into fists. He hated this smug bastard. He had spent years trying to take him down, yet in the end he ended up with absolutely fucking nothing.

Gritting his teeth, the investigator finally gave up. Helplessness evident all over his face. 

He then dejectedly turned towards his men and said, "We are leaving," 

The officers hesitated but deep down they were more than happy to follow his order. Everyone of them quickly scattered out of the room, leaving only the investigator behind.

Even the investigator turned to leave, but the Cockroach's voice stopped him.

"Oh, come on, don't look so miserable dear. This could be the start of something beautiful between us," He laughed, shaking his head. 

"Now don't start crying, please. Need a hug? Need some help? A tissue?" His voice dripped with mock concern, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

The investigator turned back, stepping closer to him until they were inches apart. His eyes burned with raw fury.

"This is not over," he said in a low, deadly tone, "I will put you behind bars. I will tear down your fucking empire, piece by piece. And when I do, I will make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life."

"Do it if you can, motherfucker," The Cockroach's smirk never wavered. He leaned in slightly, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the lingering cigar smoke, "Or you can just put a bullet in my head right here, right now and end this game of cat and mouse for once and all." 

"Ohh… Believe me. I want to do it just as badly," The investigator's nostrils flared, his fists trembling with rage. But he turned and walked away.

As the door closed behind him, Cockroach chuckled and tossed his cigar into the ashtray. He poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a slow sip, savoring the taste of victory.

"Fucking amateurs," he muttered, raising his glass to the city outside. Suddenly, the sky shattered with thunder, hearing the voice he chuckled, "Looks like even the heavens are pleased today."

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After leaving Ibrahim's Building, the investigator's sped his car in the rain. The investigator sat in the back seat, leaning against the cool window, his sharp eyes fixated on the blur of neon signs passing by. 

But his mind was somewhere else

"That bastard…" His lips curled up in a smirk..

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a lighter and started playing with it instinctively

"You think you are untouchable, don't you Ibrahim," He flipped open the lighter with a click and simultaneously pulled out a cigarette. He lit the cigarette and then took a deep drag, filling his lungs with smoke.

"But you got cocky," he muttered to himself, taking a right turn, "You thought you were always two steps ahead," His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, "But you made a mistake this time. Like every small low life."

The investigator was unable to hold back the glee, "You probably think you fooled me again, huh? Another clean escape. No evidence, no record, nothing left behind." 

"But..."

"Well, enjoy your last few hours of peace, Ibrahim," he muttered, "Because now... it's my turn to play my cards.."

With one last drag of his cigarette, he opened the window and flicked the butt out on the wet road, as he exhaled in satisfaction.

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The investigator stormed into his office, and his loud footsteps got everyone's attention.

The low murmur of conversation died instantly as the men and women in the room turned towards him. 

He stood in front of them unable to hide the smile on his face. Seeing the expression on his face, everyone in the room was confused. Didn't they all just embarrass themselves? What is he so happy about?

But the investigator didn't care much about the looks on their faces. Without wasting time, he slowly under everyone's confused gaze pulled out a small USB drive and tossed it on the table.

"We finally got the bastard," His voice dripped with satisfaction, his smirk widening as he spoke each word.

"What's on the drive?" Someone among his people asked.

Hearing the question, the smile on his face was ear to ear, "Everything," he told them. 

"Transactions, shipment details, names, dates… All the proof. Everything we need to bury Ibrahim Ansari six feet under. That smug bastard thought he was untouchable, but now?" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, "He's done. This is checkmate."

"But how??? How did you get it?" Someone asked again.

"You all know it. My charms are just irresistible," The investigator was in such a happy mood that he even joked,

And with that, a wave of excitement surged through the room. His men exchanged grins, hands clapping against backs, low murmurs of celebration filling the air. This was it. The break they had been waiting for.

But amid the cheers, one man remained stiff. His smile never reached his eyes, and his fingers twitched at his sides. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering around the room, searching—watching. He was the Cockroach's rat.

The moment he saw an opening, he slipped away, stepping into the cool night air with his pulse hammering against his ribs. His hand was already in his pocket, fingers wrapping around his phone as he dialled with shaking hands.

"Sir, we have a problem," he murmured into the receiver, his voice barely above a whisper.

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