Chapter-18 Cracks In The Mirror
738 Words
The next morning arrived slow, thick with the quiet heaviness that follows long nights. The gala had gone well — better than expected — but now came the harder part: interpreting what they had caught.
The family gathered in the living room. The curtains were open, sunlight spilling across the floor in warm rectangles. Yet there was no peace in the air — only alertness.
Suresh placed a small speaker on the table and nodded to Anika.
She hit play.
Prakash’s voice floated through the room — smooth, almost charming:
> “Sometimes you have to choose who you save. That’s business.”
The room went silent.
Riya’s hands curled into fists.
Meera closed her eyes.
Aditya’s jaw tightened.
It wasn’t a confession.
But it was a c***k.
A character reveals more in what they think is harmless.
“They always expose themselves,” Anika said quietly. “Power makes people careless.”
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it — froze — and looked at Aditya.
Anika: “The woman who received the envelope last night? Her name is Neelima Rao. She’s one of the NGO directors the company funds. And… she used to work directly under your father.”
Aditya’s head lifted slowly.
Riya whispered, “Then she knows something.”
Suresh nodded. “Or she’s hiding something.”
Meera, who had been silent, finally spoke — her voice calm and steady.
Meera: “We don’t confront her aggressively. We approach with honesty. Women who live near danger often speak, when they feel seen.”
Riya understood instantly.
This was not Aditya’s move. Not Suresh’s. Not Anika’s.
This was hers.
---
The Visit
Riya and Anika drove across the city just after noon. The sky was cloudy, threatening rain. They stopped in front of a modest apartment building — faded paint, potted plants on balconies, clothes drying on ropes.
Neelima’s door was on the third floor.
Riya took a steady breath before knocking.
The door opened.
Neelima stood there, hair tied loosely, no trace of the elegant warmth she wore at the gala. Her shoulders stiffened the moment she recognized them.
Neelima: “I can’t talk about company matters.”
Her voice trembled — just slightly.
Riya didn’t step forward.
Didn’t threaten.
Didn’t plead.
She simply said:
Riya: “I’m Rajiv’s daughter.”
Something flickered across Neelima’s face — not fear.
Guilt.
She opened the door.
---
Inside
The apartment smelled of turmeric, warm tea, and something older — secrets stored too long.
Neelima gestured for them to sit. She didn’t speak for a long moment. When she did, her voice sounded like someone who had carried a weight for years.
Neelima: “Your father… was a good man. Too good for the business he was part of.”
Riya leaned forward, softly. “What happened to him?”
Neelima stared at the table — as if the answer was carved into the wood.
Neelima: “He found out about money being siphoned into dummy NGOs. Prakash and two directors were using charity funds as a pipeline for private contracts. Your father confronted them.”
She swallowed.
Neelima: “They didn’t threaten him first. They tried to convince him. They told him it was ‘temporary.’ That hurting a few could help many. But he… refused. And once he refused… he was marked.”
Anika’s jaw tightened.
Anika: “So they made it look like an accident.”
Neelima nodded — tears gathering but not falling.
Neelima: “I warned him. I told him to document everything. And he did. I think… I think the files he kept are still out there — hidden somewhere they couldn’t reach.”
Riya felt her heart pound.
Riya: “Where?”
Neelima looked up then.
And for the first time, her gaze was clear, sharp, and unwavering.
Neelima: “In your house.”
The world seemed to stop breathing.
---
Riya whispered:
“…we searched everything.”
Neelima shook her head slowly.
Neelima: “Not where he would hide things from others.
Where he would hide things from you.
Because he didn’t want you involved.”
Anika’s eyes widened.
She understood.
The letter drawer.
The false bottom.
The study desk.
The old wardrobe.
The attic beams.
The prayer box.
Rajiv hadn’t hidden his secrets far away.
He hid them in the heart of his home.
Because he believed someday…
His family would need them.
---
End of Chapter 18
- Writer
