Amartya Basu
Part 1: The First Message
Kolkata was restless that night.
The damp air of the city clung to the streets, wrapped in the hazy fog that seemed to linger long after the evening rains had passed. In the quiet alleys of South Kolkata, the hum of the traffic was replaced by the distant cry of a night bird and the flicker of streetlights casting long shadows. It was in one such alley, in the decrepit building of Pataldanga, where the first message was left.
Detective Anirban Ghosh stood in the doorway of the apartment, his gaze fixed on the scene before him. The room was dim, the only light coming from the single bulb that swayed from the ceiling. He had been to dozens of crime scenes before, but something about this one unsettled him.
The body of the victim—a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a slight paunch—lay sprawled across the floor. His eyes were wide open, staring vacantly at the ceiling, as if he had seen something truly terrifying before his last breath. A pool of blood had formed beneath his head, a stark contrast to the dull grey tiles beneath him.
But it wasn’t the body that caught Anirban’s attention. It was the words.
Scrawled across the wall in crimson red, the message was chilling in its simplicity: The truth will set you free.
The words seemed to stare back at him, mocking him. He’d seen his fair share of crime scenes, but this—this was different. The killer hadn’t just taken a life; he had left a message. A riddle. A clue. But why?
Anirban moved closer, his sharp eyes scanning the room. The victim’s name was Ranjan Chakraborty, a man who had no criminal record, no known enemies, and lived a life that seemed perfectly ordinary. So why would someone go to such lengths to murder him?
The only thing unusual, according to the neighbors, was that Ranjan had been acting strangely in the past few weeks—distant, paranoid, often looking over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to follow him. But no one knew why. His family was equally baffled, with no idea of what had led him to such a state.
Anirban stood motionless for a few seconds, his mind working over the details, trying to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that didn’t make sense. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone, snapping a picture of the wall. The message was the key, no doubt about it, but it didn’t give him anything concrete to go on. It was as if the killer wanted to play with him, to make him chase shadows.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Sir, we’ve found something,” said Officer Rhea Gupta, approaching him cautiously. She was holding a small, crumpled envelope in her hand, stained with blood. It had been tucked under the victim’s right hand.
Anirban took the envelope from her, carefully tearing it open. Inside, there was another note—this one typed, the letters crisp and clean.
This is just the beginning. Watch closely. The past always catches up.
He frowned, his fingers gripping the paper tightly. It was a warning, and this one was personal.
“The killer’s not done,” Anirban muttered under his breath. “And they’re toying with us.”
Rhea looked at him with concern. “What do you mean, sir?”
Anirban didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking, piecing things together. The message on the wall, the cryptic note, the victim’s strange behavior—it wasn’t just about murder. It was about something much darker. The truth that Ranjan Chakraborty had kept hidden.
Someone, somewhere, was going to make sure that secret came to light.
Part 2: The Mind of a Killer
Detective Anirban Ghosh stood at the edge of the crime scene, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. The rain, now a steady drizzle, pattered against the stone steps of the old building, as though the city itself was in mourning. He couldn’t shake the image of the cryptic messages. The note. The words on the wall. They burned in his mind, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
He ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair and sighed. There was something about this case that felt different—darker, more insidious. Most murders followed a familiar rhythm—jealousy, greed, revenge—but this one… this one felt personal. And the killer, whoever they were, clearly had a plan.
“Sir, the victim’s office records have come in,” Rhea Gupta said, breaking his reverie. She handed him a manila folder, filled with papers. Anirban took it, flipping through the pages as he listened.
“Ranjan Chakraborty was a mid-level manager at a local construction firm,” Rhea continued. “He wasn’t involved in any scandals, and as far as we can tell, he was well-liked at work. No enemies, no pending debts, nothing suspicious—except for the past two months. He was quiet, withdrawn, and there was something… off about him.”
Anirban raised an eyebrow. “Off how?”
Rhea paused. “He was coming into work late, leaving early. People noticed he had stopped attending meetings, that he was avoiding interactions with everyone. Some said he even started drinking alone in the office lounge, something he’d never done before.”
“Hmm,” Anirban muttered, rubbing his chin. “What was his life outside of work? Family? Friends?”
Rhea flipped through more papers. “He lived alone. His wife, Priya, passed away two years ago in a car accident. No children. He was close with his sister, but she left Kolkata last year for a job in the U.S. It seems like he had no real support system.”
A man with no close connections, no apparent ties to crime, and yet he had been murdered in a methodical, almost artistic way. Anirban’s mind churned. It didn’t make sense. And the messages—the chilling, almost poetic notes—were a call to something much deeper. The killer wanted to be seen. They wanted to be understood.
“Sir, we also have the victim’s personal emails,” Rhea added. “There’s something strange here. I’ll let you look for yourself.”
Anirban took the folder and skimmed through the digital printout. The first email that caught his attention was sent six days ago. It was addressed to someone named “The Watcher.” The subject read: It’s happening again.
Anirban’s pulse quickened. He skimmed through the body of the email.
I don’t know who you are, but I’m scared. You were right. The truth will destroy me. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out.
The rest of the email was a rambling mess—confessions about past mistakes, cryptic mentions of things Ranjan had done but never explained. He quickly scanned the rest, but the name of “The Watcher” appeared again in several emails—messages pleading for help, apologizing, and asking for guidance.
“Rhea,” Anirban said, his voice low. “What was Ranjan mixed up in? Who is ‘The Watcher’?”
Rhea looked puzzled. “We haven’t been able to trace that name yet. It’s like a shadow—there’s nothing concrete. But there’s one more thing. The last email… the one he sent just before his death—it’s addressed to the killer. And the subject line is… ‘Your next move.’”
Anirban’s heart raced. This was no random crime. This was personal. And the killer wasn’t just playing with the victim—they were playing with him. The game had only just begun.
“Let’s dig deeper into these emails,” Anirban said, his eyes scanning the room. “Find out who this ‘Watcher’ is. And I need a list of everyone Ranjan communicated with over the last few months. We might be looking at someone who’s been pulling the strings from behind the scenes.”
As Rhea left to follow his orders, Anirban sat back in his chair, his thoughts racing. He had worked on countless cases throughout his career, but this one… this one felt like an intricately woven web, designed to catch him in a mental trap. Each clue was a piece of the puzzle, but they didn’t fit together. Not yet.
The killer’s words echoed in his mind again: The truth will set you free.
What truth? And what freedom was the killer promising? Anirban had seen his share of twisted minds, but this one was different. This killer didn’t just want death—they wanted a revelation. They wanted the truth, whatever it was, to be exposed for the world to see.
For hours, Anirban pored over the evidence, trying to piece together what he could. Then, his phone buzzed. Rhea was calling.
“Sir,” she said urgently, “you need to see this.”
Anirban arrived at the office, a quiet building tucked away in the middle of a narrow street. Rhea was standing by a desk, staring at a document on the screen with a look of disbelief.
“That’s the email you were looking for,” she said. “We’ve traced the IP address to a server in Kolkata, but there’s something strange about it. It’s a dead end. We can’t find out who’s behind it. But there’s more.”
Anirban frowned. “More?”
“Yes,” Rhea said, turning the monitor towards him. “It seems that the last few emails Ranjan sent weren’t to The Watcher at all. They were sent to someone much closer. Someone who would know the truth.”
Anirban leaned in, his breath catching in his throat. The name in the email wasn’t unfamiliar. It was his own.
To Detective Anirban Ghosh: I know your secrets. And soon, the world will too.
Everything went cold. The case was no longer just about Ranjan Chakraborty. It was about him. And the killer was coming for him, one secret at a time.
Part 3: Ghosts of the Past
The wind howled through the narrow lanes of Kolkata as Detective Anirban Ghosh stood outside the old, crumbling building that housed the Police Cyber Unit. The city was alive in its chaos, the streets cluttered with honking taxis and cyclists weaving through the throngs of people, but to Anirban, everything felt distant. His focus was consumed by one unsettling realization: the killer had been watching him. All along.
The message was clear, but it sent a chill down his spine. I know your secrets. And soon, the world will too.
He took a deep breath, trying to push aside the rush of memories flooding his mind. Memories he had buried long ago. But the killer knew. And he was going to make sure the world knew too.
“Sir, we’ve found something,” Rhea’s voice broke through his thoughts. She was standing at the entrance, holding a file in her hands. She had a tense look on her face—one that didn’t belong to the calm, composed officer Anirban had worked with for years. There was fear in her eyes.
“What is it, Rhea?” Anirban asked, already knowing that nothing about this case could be simple.
She handed him the file, and he opened it slowly, dreading the next discovery.
Inside were photographs of Ranjan Chakraborty’s last days. It was the same victim they had been investigating, but there was something eerily familiar about the images. Ranjan, in the photos, was sitting in a small café in the city, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, as though someone was watching him.
And then, in the last photo, Ranjan was no longer alone. A shadowy figure sat across from him—someone whose face was obscured, but there was no mistaking the resemblance.
It was Anirban.
His breath caught. The shadowy figure didn’t just look like him—it was him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Had he unknowingly crossed paths with the victim? Or worse, was he being set up? The thought was too twisted to entertain, but the evidence was damning.
“How is this possible?” Anirban murmured, almost to himself.
Rhea stepped closer. “We traced the timestamp on the photos. They were taken two days before Ranjan was killed. That’s when the emails started coming in.”
Anirban’s mind raced. The killer had set up the scenario perfectly. Ranjan had been stalked, followed, and photographed, just like he had been. But why? What was the connection between him and this man who had died so horribly? He didn’t even know Ranjan—at least, he thought he didn’t.
But the truth was beginning to twist and spiral. The killer knew something about his past, about Anirban’s history that no one else did. And it was only a matter of time before that secret came to light.
“Rhea,” Anirban began, his voice strained, “I need you to run a background check on me. Check every single detail. I think the killer might be using my past against me.”
She looked at him, her expression softening for a moment. But the moment passed quickly, and she nodded. “I’ll get started immediately.”
Later that night, Anirban sat alone in his office, the dim light of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the rustle of papers as he flipped through the case files. Ranjan’s death had been the first in a series of increasingly strange murders, and Anirban couldn’t shake the feeling that his own involvement—whether direct or not—was far from accidental. The killer had made it personal.
Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him. He glanced at the screen. It was Rhea.
“Sir,” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “I’ve found something. It’s not good.”
“What is it?” Anirban’s tone was clipped.
“Your connection to Ranjan Chakraborty,” Rhea continued. “You knew him. He worked at the same construction firm as your father. He wasn’t just a random man. He was an intern there, years ago. But there’s more.”
Anirban’s heart skipped a beat. His father? He had never heard Ranjan’s name before. How could they have crossed paths?
“Your father,” Rhea continued, “was the one who dismissed Ranjan from the firm. They had a falling out. Ranjan was accused of something—something he never forgave your father for.”
Anirban’s thoughts began to unravel. His father had never spoken of Ranjan, never mentioned anything about him. But now, the pieces were falling into place, slowly, like an old, forgotten puzzle.
“What happened between them?” Anirban asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Your father dismissed him for embezzlement. But Ranjan always maintained his innocence. It was one of the most controversial incidents at the firm. Your father believed it was true, but there was never any real evidence to prove it. Ranjan was pushed out, and his life spiraled from there.”
Anirban sat back in his chair, trying to process the information. The weight of it pressed down on him. Had his father’s actions led to Ranjan’s downfall? And had that led to his death?
And now, the killer—whoever they were—had found a way to connect him to this past. To Ranjan. To the secrets that Anirban had never wanted to face.
“I need to know everything,” Anirban said, his voice firm, yet heavy with the burden of discovery. “Every detail. Get me Ranjan’s full history. His family. His friends. I want to know who he was. Who he became. And I want to know how the killer is connected to this.”
Rhea paused before answering. “Sir, there’s one more thing.”
“What is it?” Anirban asked, a sharp edge to his voice.
“There’s a letter,” Rhea said. “A letter that Ranjan wrote to your father before he died. It was never sent, but we found it among his personal belongings.”
Anirban’s heart hammered in his chest. A letter to his father? He had to know what it said. And more importantly, who had orchestrated this twisted chain of events.
“Bring it to me,” he said urgently. “Now.”
The city had quieted by the time Rhea arrived, her face pale, a yellowed envelope in her hand. She placed it on the desk in front of Anirban, and he opened it carefully.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, the ink faded but legible. Ranjan’s handwriting was sharp, almost frantic, as if the words had been etched in desperation.
“Anirban Ghosh is the key. He doesn’t remember me, but I remember him. The truth will destroy him. I will make sure of that.”
The message hit Anirban like a physical blow. His mind whirled. The killer wasn’t just after Ranjan’s secret. They were after his, too. They knew him. And they were waiting for him to break.
Part 4: The Repressed Truth
The letter burned in Anirban’s hands as he read the words over and over again. “Anirban Ghosh is the key. He doesn’t remember me, but I remember him. The truth will destroy him. I will make sure of that.”
He had read it too many times to count, and yet the message didn’t make sense. Who was Ranjan? And what was this truth the killer spoke of? The more Anirban thought about it, the more he realized that his past—something he had long tried to bury—was now being dragged into the light. He hadn’t wanted to confront it, not now, not ever, but the killer had left him no choice.
His mind flashed back to his childhood, a time when life seemed simple, before the weight of responsibility had settled on his shoulders. His father had been a powerful man in the city, a well-respected figure in the construction industry, but his relationships were always strained, especially when it came to the people he worked with. Anirban never thought much of it. He had always focused on his studies, his career, and his own life. But this letter, this connection to Ranjan—he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“Sir, are you okay?” Rhea’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a look of concern etched across her face. “You’ve been quiet for a while.”
Anirban barely noticed the passage of time. He was lost in the vortex of his own thoughts, but Rhea’s question grounded him. “I need to find out everything about Ranjan Chakraborty,” he said, his voice steady, though inside, his heart was racing. “And I need to know what happened between him and my father. I can’t keep running from this.”
Rhea nodded, her face serious. “I’ll get started on it right away.”
The next few days were a blur. Anirban hardly slept, spending his waking hours at the police station, reviewing case files, and going through every scrap of information he could find on Ranjan. He spoke to old colleagues of his father, hoping to piece together the fragments of a life that had been torn apart by the accusations of embezzlement.
It was during one of these interviews that Anirban learned something that shook him to his core.
“Your father was hard on everyone, Ghosh,” said a former employee of the construction firm, an old man with graying hair and a weathered face. “He believed in discipline, in getting things done. But when it came to Ranjan… he had a soft spot for him. No one knew why, not at first.”
Anirban’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
The man shifted uncomfortably, as though he were afraid to say too much. “Ranjan… well, he wasn’t just an intern. He was smart, ambitious, and he had a certain… influence over people. But he wasn’t the only one who had that power. Your father, well, he had his own demons, his own temptations. It’s possible that Ranjan knew more than anyone ever gave him credit for.”
Anirban’s mind raced. His father, the stoic man he had always admired, had his own flaws. Had those flaws led him to make enemies? Had his actions—whatever they were—pushed Ranjan to the edge?
“You’re saying Ranjan had leverage over my father?” Anirban asked.
The old man nodded grimly. “That’s what I’m saying. And when he was accused of stealing, no one believed him, but your father… he never apologized. Never took the blame. And then Ranjan just disappeared. Never came back to the city. Until now.”
The pieces were slowly coming together, but Anirban felt an overwhelming sense of dread. It wasn’t just about solving the case anymore. It was about confronting the darkest corners of his own history—the parts that had remained hidden for so long.
The following evening, Anirban stood before the mirror in his apartment, staring at his reflection. His face was gaunt, the weight of the investigation showing in the lines beneath his eyes. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that the killer was playing him like a puppet, pulling the strings, pushing him towards an inevitable truth that he wasn’t ready to face.
The doorbell rang, cutting through his thoughts. He opened it to find Rhea standing there, her face pale, her expression tense.
“I found something,” she said, holding out a thick manila folder.
Anirban took it from her, his heart racing in anticipation. He opened it and found a series of old photographs, the edges yellowed with age. They were pictures of Ranjan—at a younger age, standing alongside his father in the firm’s office. Anirban’s pulse quickened as he recognized the setting. It was a picture from the same time his father had started his rise to power.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice tight.
Rhea pointed to a picture of Ranjan standing with a group of men, all dressed in suits, except for one person. The man in the photo was wearing a long coat, a dark hat, and sunglasses, his face obscured.
“I think I found the missing link,” Rhea said quietly. “This man in the photograph—he’s the key to everything.”
Anirban’s fingers trembled as he examined the image. The man in the picture wasn’t just any random person. He was familiar. A flicker of recognition sparked deep within him, and as the realization dawned, his blood ran cold.
The man in the photograph was none other than Anirban’s own father. But there was something else—something hidden behind that dark façade. The mystery deepened.
Anirban’s head spun as he tried to process the information. His father had been involved with Ranjan, yes, but there was a deeper connection—something buried in the past that was now surfacing. The killer knew about this connection. And soon, so would the rest of the world.
He slammed his fist down on the table, frustration rising within him. The killer wasn’t just exposing the truth; they were making him confront it. And there was no escaping the inevitable.
“Rhea,” he said, his voice hard. “We need to find out who that man is. And we need to do it quickly.”
But even as he said the words, Anirban knew that time was running out. The killer was moving faster than they ever anticipated. And soon, the truth—his truth—would be exposed, whether he was ready or not.
The city seemed darker now, the shadows longer and more menacing. Anirban could feel it—this slow, creeping inevitability that was pushing him to a breaking point. The clock was ticking, and the killer was waiting for him to make his move. But there was one thing Anirban knew for sure: the past was never truly buried. It always found a way to resurface, no matter how deep you buried it.
And now, it was going to destroy him.
Part 5: A Silent Observer
The case had become a blur, a series of fragmented truths and half-buried lies. Each revelation seemed to twist the knife deeper into Anirban’s soul, as though the killer was systematically undoing everything he thought he knew. The image of his father—hidden behind a veil of darkness in the photograph with Ranjan—haunted him. His father, the man he had looked up to all his life, was not the hero he had imagined. And the worst part was that Anirban himself was now part of the very web of deception that had ensnared Ranjan.
The city was buzzing outside, but inside Anirban’s apartment, there was nothing but the hum of his thoughts. The realization that the killer was watching him, observing his every move, unsettled him in ways he couldn’t articulate. He felt like a pawn in a twisted game, being moved toward an inevitable conclusion. The weight of the past pressed down on him, and every unanswered question was like a pin pricking at his skin.
Rhea’s voice broke the silence.
“Sir,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “I’ve been going through the old case files of Ranjan’s dismissal from the firm. There’s something strange. Your father wasn’t the only one involved in pushing Ranjan out. There was someone else, someone powerful, who was behind it all.”
Anirban looked up, his brow furrowed. “Who?”
Rhea hesitated, then handed him another folder. This one was thicker, filled with legal documents and correspondence. Anirban flipped through it, his eyes scanning the pages, until he came across a name that made his blood run cold.
Subir Roy.
The name sent a ripple of recognition through him. Subir Roy had been an old business partner of his father’s, a man whose name had been mentioned only in passing during casual family conversations. Anirban had never thought much of him. But now, it seemed that Roy was the shadow behind his father’s decision to ruin Ranjan.
“This is it,” Rhea said, her voice barely audible. “Subir Roy had influence in the firm, and when Ranjan was accused of embezzlement, Roy was the one who pushed for him to be fired. Your father may have been the one to execute the decision, but Roy’s influence went deeper. Much deeper.”
Anirban felt his chest tighten. The revelation was a blow, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Why had Ranjan been accused of something he hadn’t done? Why had Roy, of all people, been so determined to destroy him? And, more importantly, how was the killer involved in all of this?
He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his thoughts. It was as if the killer had anticipated every move he would make. Anirban had spent his entire career solving cases, chasing criminals, understanding human nature. But this case—this twisted web of psychological manipulation—was beyond him. He wasn’t just hunting down a killer; he was unraveling a conspiracy that reached into the darkest corners of his own life.
The ringing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. It was a number he didn’t recognize.
“This is Detective Ghosh,” he answered, his voice weary.
“Detective,” the voice on the other end was calm, almost amused. “I hope you’re enjoying the game.”
Anirban’s pulse quickened. It was the killer.
“What do you want?” he asked, trying to steady his breathing.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re paying attention, Detective,” the voice continued. “You’re so close, and yet so far. All the pieces are right in front of you, but you can’t see them, can you?”
Anirban clenched his fist. “Who are you?”
The voice chuckled softly. “Oh, I’m nobody. Just a silent observer, watching as you unravel. But don’t worry, Detective. I’ll be with you soon enough. You’re almost there.”
The line went dead.
Anirban stood there, his heart pounding in his chest. The killer was playing him like a puppet, and he could do nothing but follow the strings. Every step he took seemed to bring him closer to the truth, but it also pulled him deeper into the killer’s game. He wasn’t just solving a murder anymore; he was being forced to confront a truth about himself—about his father—and about the darkness that lay hidden within the city.
The next morning, Anirban sat across from Rhea in his office, his mind still reeling from the phone call. The pieces were coming together, but the more he learned, the more he felt like he was losing control. Ranjan’s death had opened a door, but the answers he sought only led to more questions.
“I spoke to someone who knew Subir Roy,” Rhea said, breaking the silence. “They told me something interesting. It turns out Roy wasn’t just involved with your father professionally. He was also involved with some… unsavory people. There were whispers about his connections to organized crime. The kind of people who deal in things that should never see the light of day.”
Anirban’s mind raced. “What do you mean by ‘unsavory people’?”
Rhea paused. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m digging. It’s possible that Ranjan got caught in something much bigger than just embezzlement. If Roy was involved with criminals, then maybe Ranjan found out something he shouldn’t have. Maybe that’s why he was killed.”
Anirban stood up abruptly, pacing the room. The threads were tightening around him. The killer wasn’t just targeting Ranjan; they were targeting anyone who had anything to do with the conspiracy. And now, it seemed like he himself was being dragged into it. His father, Subir Roy, organized crime… it was all connected. And the killer knew it.
“Rhea, I need to speak to Roy,” Anirban said, his voice hard. “He’s the key to everything. We need to find him.”
Rhea nodded, but her face was full of doubt. “Are you sure? Roy’s not someone we can just walk up to. He’s dangerous, and if he’s involved in all of this—”
“I don’t care,” Anirban interrupted, his voice sharp. “We’re running out of time. We need to get to the bottom of this, or the killer will win. We’ll be chasing shadows forever.”
Rhea hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll get our team on it. But be careful, sir. Roy’s not a man to underestimate.”
Anirban turned to leave the room, his mind already racing ahead to the next step. But as he reached for the door, he heard Rhea’s voice again, soft but filled with concern.
“Anirban,” she said, “just… be careful. You’re getting too close. The killer knows you now. You’re not just a detective anymore. You’re part of this story.”
Anirban froze, his hand on the door. She was right. He wasn’t just chasing a criminal. He was entangled in a game where the rules were already set, and the stakes were higher than he could imagine.
But there was no turning back now. The truth was out there, waiting. And Anirban was going to find it—no matter the cost.
Part 6: The Breaking Point
Anirban’s footsteps echoed in the empty corridor as he made his way to the parking lot. The morning sun had barely broken through the haze that had settled over Kolkata, casting long, ghostly shadows on the cracked pavement. It had been days since he’d slept properly, and each passing moment felt like a weight on his shoulders. But he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t let the killer win.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen read: Rhea Gupta.
He answered without hesitation. “What have you found?”
“We’ve located Subir Roy,” Rhea said. Her voice was steady, but Anirban could hear the tension underneath. “He’s not far from here, in one of the old warehouses near the docks. We’ve sent a team to intercept him, but we’re not sure if he’s alone. This could be our chance, sir. We need to move quickly.”
Anirban’s heart raced. He could feel the pull of urgency now—this was the moment he had been waiting for. They had the man who was linked to the dark past he was trying to escape. Roy had been the puppet master, pulling strings from the shadows, and Anirban was finally going to confront him. But something deep within Anirban warned him—this wasn’t going to be simple. Nothing about this case had been simple.
“Get your team ready,” Anirban said, his voice sharp. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
The warehouse loomed ahead like a tombstone against the gray sky. Its metal doors were rusted, the walls stained with the grime of years gone by. Anirban’s car screeched to a halt outside, the sound cutting through the silence of the empty street. He got out, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun, a habit he had long since mastered but still felt uncomfortable with.
Rhea and her team were already there, waiting. She met him by the entrance, her face grim.
“He’s in there,” she said, gesturing toward the darkened interior of the warehouse. “We’re not sure what he’s got planned, but we know he’s armed. Stay close.”
Anirban nodded, his mind racing. This was it. He could feel it—the confrontation that had been building for days, the moment when everything would come to a head. But as he stepped forward, a sense of unease crawled up his spine. Something wasn’t right. The atmosphere in the air was thick, like the calm before a storm.
They entered the warehouse cautiously, moving silently through the shadows. The smell of rust and dampness was overpowering, and Anirban could barely make out the shapes of old crates stacked high, their edges worn down by time. The sound of their footsteps seemed deafening in the silence, but they pressed on.
“Where is he?” Anirban whispered to Rhea.
“He’s here somewhere,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “We’ve got the whole place covered. He can’t escape.”
Anirban’s eyes darted around, every corner of the warehouse a potential threat. His heart was pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. But the silence was maddening. There was no sound—no movement. It was as if Roy had vanished into thin air.
Then, just as Anirban turned a corner, something caught his eye. A faint flicker of movement. A shadow in the distance. His pulse quickened, and he raised his gun, motioning for Rhea to stay back.
He crept forward, every step deliberate, his instincts on high alert. As he neared the edge of the room, the dim light from the high windows illuminated the figure standing in the middle of the space. It was Subir Roy.
But there was something wrong about the scene.
Roy was standing still, his back to them, a thin smile playing at the corners of his lips. The air around him seemed charged, thick with tension. And as Anirban’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw something that made his stomach drop—a body on the ground at Roy’s feet. The body was crumpled, lifeless, a pool of blood spreading slowly across the floor.
Anirban’s breath caught in his throat. It was one of Rhea’s team members.
“Stay back!” Anirban shouted, but it was too late. The room seemed to warp, the walls closing in as Roy slowly turned to face him.
“Well, well,” Roy said, his voice dripping with a twisted amusement. “Detective Ghosh. I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Anirban felt a cold fury rising within him. “What have you done?”
Roy smiled, a predator’s grin. “Done? I’ve only just begun. You see, you’ve been playing right into my hands, Detective. All of you. The game was never about finding the killer. It was about making you confront the truth. Your truth.”
Anirban’s mind raced. “What truth?”
Roy’s gaze darkened. “The truth that you’ve been hiding from, the one that’s been sitting in the shadows all these years. Your father’s secrets. The corruption that runs through your family’s legacy. And you—you—are the last piece of the puzzle.”
Anirban stepped forward, his fists clenched. “You’re insane.”
Roy laughed softly, but it was empty. “Insane? No, Detective. I’m the one who sees the truth. You’ve been living in a bubble of lies, but I’ve torn that bubble apart. Ranjan Chakraborty, your father, the firm—everything is connected. And now, you get to watch as it all falls apart.”
Rhea stepped forward, her voice trembling with anger. “You’re a murderer, Roy. You killed Ranjan. You killed him to hide the truth.”
Roy’s expression darkened. “No, Rhea. I didn’t kill him. He was already dead the moment he crossed me. I simply made sure that the world would know what he knew. That’s what this is all about, Detective. It’s not just about blood. It’s about exposing the truth, no matter how much it hurts.”
Anirban’s mind was spinning. This was it—the confrontation he had been waiting for. The killer was standing right in front of him, but somehow, Roy wasn’t just a murderer. He was a man with a plan. A man who had been pulling strings for years, manipulating people, forcing them to face their own buried truths.
But Anirban wasn’t done yet. He had to stop Roy, end this madness before it consumed everything. “You think you’ve won?” he spat. “You think you’ve exposed the truth? I’m not afraid of it.”
Roy’s smile twisted. “No? Well, you should be.”
And with that, Roy stepped back, disappearing into the darkness, leaving Anirban and Rhea standing amidst the chaos. The game wasn’t over. It was only just beginning.
Part 7: The Mind Unraveled
The warehouse was silent, save for the faint sound of their breath. Anirban stood motionless, his gun still raised, his heart pounding in his chest. Roy had vanished into the shadows, leaving him with a chilling message—the truth, that elusive force that had been the driving force behind everything, was now even further from his reach.
Rhea stepped forward, kneeling beside her fallen officer. The blood had begun to pool around him, the stark red a horrific reminder of the stakes they were facing. She closed his eyes gently, her expression a mask of grief and fury.
Anirban couldn’t move. His mind was overwhelmed with everything Roy had said. His father. Ranjan. The firm. The corruption. Everything that he had taken for granted—the life he had known—was now in tatters.
“Sir, we need to go,” Rhea’s voice cut through the thick air of tension. “We’re not alone here. We need backup.”
Anirban’s gaze never left the spot where Roy had been. His mind was still processing the surreal conversation, Roy’s cryptic words looping in his head. The killer had been manipulating him all along, making him confront a truth that wasn’t his to face.
But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was the man who had played them all, who had orchestrated this twisted game from the shadows. Roy had known exactly how to exploit Anirban’s past, and now, it seemed, he had succeeded.
“No,” Anirban finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “We need to finish this now. He’s playing us, Rhea. All of us. But I’m not going to let him win.”
Rhea hesitated, looking back toward the exit, then back at Anirban. She understood. She knew that if they didn’t end it now, the killer would slip through their fingers, again and again. They couldn’t afford to wait.
“Alright,” she said, nodding. “We move in pairs. We cover every inch of this place. He’s here. I know it.”
Anirban motioned for her to lead. They weren’t alone, and the killer was still somewhere in the maze of the warehouse, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the next move.
The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Anirban and Rhea carefully moved through the warehouse, their senses heightened, every footstep echoing off the decaying walls. The dark corners seemed to shift with every step they took, and the deeper they ventured into the bowels of the building, the more they realized how easily Roy could disappear into this labyrinth.
Anirban’s mind was racing, trying to piece together the puzzle that had been laid out before him. Roy had been involved in everything—the manipulation of his father, the downfall of Ranjan, the orchestrated murders. He had used Ranjan as a pawn, a way to get to Anirban, a way to expose a truth that had been buried under years of lies.
The truth will destroy you.
Those words echoed through Anirban’s mind like a drumbeat, relentless and growing louder with each passing moment. What truth? What was it that Roy had uncovered? What had his father done that had set this chain of events in motion? And why had he, of all people, been dragged into the killer’s twisted game?
He thought back to that photo—the one where his father and Ranjan stood side by side, a picture of forced camaraderie. The missing piece of the puzzle was right there, taunting him. The darkness that Roy had hinted at—the lies, the manipulation—had all been carefully hidden. Until now.
But the killer wasn’t finished yet. Roy was still out there, pulling the strings. And Anirban was the last person left to face the music.
He turned to Rhea. “We need to find the security room. Now.”
Rhea nodded, her eyes sharp as she moved toward the back of the warehouse. They passed through dark hallways, past broken-down storage crates and piles of abandoned equipment, until they found it—an old, rusted door with a small, flickering light above it. The security room.
Anirban pushed the door open, and they both stepped inside. The room was small, cramped, and filled with monitors showing various angles of the warehouse. It was clear that Roy had been watching them the entire time. Every move, every decision—they had been played.
Anirban’s eyes scanned the monitors, his pulse quickening as he saw Roy’s face flash across one of the screens. The image was grainy, distorted, but it was unmistakably him.
“He’s here,” Anirban muttered. “And he knows we’re getting closer.”
Rhea quickly moved to the control panel, her fingers dancing over the buttons. “We’ve got a live feed to the cameras. We can see where he’s been. Let’s track him down.”
Anirban nodded. They were getting closer, but Roy’s movements were erratic, almost deliberate. He was playing with them, letting them get close enough to almost catch him, but never enough to fully capture him.
Suddenly, one of the monitors blinked out, and then another, until the entire room went dark. The hum of the equipment stopped, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.
“Damn it!” Rhea cursed, scrambling to find the backup power. “He’s disabled the cameras. We’ve lost him.”
Anirban’s mind raced. The truth—the final piece of the puzzle—was within his reach, but Roy was slipping away again. He couldn’t let that happen.
He turned toward Rhea. “We’re going after him. I know where he’ll go.”
Rhea’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
Anirban didn’t answer immediately. He was already moving toward the exit.
The truth is closer than you think, Anirban.
Roy had left him a trail, one that led straight to the heart of everything he feared. The warehouse was just a decoy, a place to trap them. Roy’s true goal was something far more personal. He wasn’t just after revenge. He was after Anirban’s soul.
The streets outside were wet from the earlier rain, and the city had begun to wake up as Anirban and Rhea rushed to their car. The air was thick with anticipation. The search was no longer about catching a criminal—it was about confronting the past, about facing the truth that had been buried deep within him.
Anirban’s heart beat in his chest like a drum. He could feel Roy’s presence looming over him.
“Where are we headed?” Rhea asked, pulling into traffic.
Anirban didn’t answer right away. His mind was focused on the only place Roy would go now—the place where everything had started. The place that had been the foundation of Anirban’s past and the beginning of his father’s downfall.
“We’re going to the old house,” he said, his voice firm. “The one near the river. That’s where it all ends.”
As the car sped through the city, Anirban couldn’t shake the feeling that Roy was still one step ahead. The killer had orchestrated everything—every twist, every turn, every confrontation. But now, the time had come. The past would be laid bare, and nothing would remain hidden anymore.
For the first time in days, Anirban felt the weight of his past lifting off his shoulders. The truth—whatever it was—was finally within reach. And he was ready to face it, no matter the cost.
Part 8: A Game of Shadows
The old house near the river stood on the edge of the city, a relic of a time long past. It was an imposing structure, one that had seen the rise and fall of generations, its stone façade weathered by the harsh elements and the passage of time. Anirban had been here before, as a child, playing in the expansive gardens that once surrounded the mansion. But now, standing before the gate, the house felt like a mausoleum—a place where secrets were buried, waiting to be unearthed.
As the car pulled up to the driveway, Rhea glanced at Anirban. “Are you sure about this? It’s… it’s not just a house anymore, Anirban. There’s something eerie about it.”
Anirban didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the house, his thoughts a storm of uncertainty and resolve. He hadn’t wanted to return here, not in years. But something had drawn him back—the promise of answers, the need to confront the truth, whatever it was.
“Yes,” he said finally, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. “This is where it all began.”
They stepped out of the car and walked toward the house in silence, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees that lined the driveway. The sound was haunting, a reminder that something was waiting, something that would shift the ground beneath their feet.
The front door creaked open, and Anirban stepped inside first, his senses alert. The once grand hall was now dark, the curtains drawn, casting long shadows on the dust-covered floor. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and age. It was a place frozen in time—frozen in a past that had shaped Anirban’s entire life.
Rhea’s voice broke the silence. “This place… it’s so different from what I expected. So much history… and so much decay.”
Anirban didn’t reply, his mind already focusing on the task ahead. He moved through the house with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Every room he passed, every turn he made, seemed to pull him further into the past.
There, in the far corner of the house, was the library. He could barely make out the faint silhouette of the shelves in the dim light, but the memories flooded back—the countless hours spent in this room with his father, learning about the world, about life, and about responsibility. This was the place where he had first felt the weight of his father’s expectations, where everything had seemed perfect, where he had once believed that he could carry on his father’s legacy.
But now, it felt like a tomb.
“Rhea,” Anirban called, his voice hushed as he reached for a book on one of the shelves. “This is it.”
Rhea approached him, eyeing the collection of old books. “What is it?”
Anirban pulled the book from the shelf with care, revealing a hidden compartment behind it. His hand trembled as he opened the compartment, revealing a collection of letters—letters that were yellowed with age and fragile to the touch.
“These were my father’s letters,” Anirban said, his voice thick with emotion. “I never knew they existed. He must have kept them hidden here. I was too young to understand what was really going on.”
Rhea stood beside him, her face full of curiosity as she watched him sift through the letters. “What do they say?”
Anirban took a deep breath. “It’s the truth, Rhea. The truth about everything—about my father, about Ranjan, and about what happened here.”
He began to read aloud the first letter, his voice cracking as the words came to life. The letter was addressed to a man he didn’t recognize—Subir Roy.
“I can no longer keep up the pretense, Subir. The truth about Ranjan must come out. We both know what he’s capable of. He has information about things that we cannot afford to let anyone know. I know what you’re asking of me, but this—this isn’t just about money. This is about something far bigger than either of us.”
Anirban’s hands trembled as he continued reading, his mind piecing together the scattered fragments of the puzzle. His father had known about Ranjan’s secrets. He had known what Ranjan had uncovered—and that knowledge had been dangerous.
The letter continued, revealing more about the pressure Anirban’s father had been under, the fear of exposure, and the lengths he had gone to in order to silence Ranjan. It was clear now—Ranjan had been murdered not just for embezzlement, but for what he had discovered about the corruption that ran deep within the firm, and within Anirban’s own family.
“I never knew,” Anirban whispered, the words heavy with guilt. “I never knew how deep it went.”
Rhea placed a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t have a choice. This isn’t on you.”
But Anirban couldn’t let go of the feeling of betrayal. His father had been the architect of so much pain, so many lies. And now, the truth was unraveling before him, piece by piece. Ranjan had paid the price for knowing too much, and his father had been the one to seal his fate.
He turned to Rhea. “I need to find Roy. Now. This ends tonight.”
The night was thick with fog as Anirban and Rhea made their way through the narrow streets toward Subir Roy’s last known location. The shadows seemed to stretch on forever, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the city and the faint clinking of distant chains.
Anirban’s thoughts were a blur, his heart racing. Roy was the last piece of the puzzle. He was the one who had been pulling the strings all along, manipulating Ranjan, his father, and now, Anirban himself. The time for games was over.
“Do you think he knows we’re coming?” Rhea asked, breaking the silence.
Anirban’s jaw clenched. “He’s always known. But we’re not playing by his rules anymore.”
They arrived at a run-down building near the riverbank. It was dark, the windows obscured by grime, and the front door was locked tight. But Anirban had no intention of knocking.
He turned to Rhea. “Stay behind me. If anything happens, get out. Call for backup.”
With a swift motion, he forced open the door, and they stepped inside. The place was eerily quiet, but Anirban knew that Roy was here. The killer had always been one step ahead, but now, the tables were turning.
They moved cautiously through the building, their footsteps echoing off the concrete floors. And then, at the far end of the room, they saw him.
Subir Roy stood by a large table, his back to them, looking over a series of documents spread across it. The moment he turned, Anirban’s gun was aimed squarely at his chest.
“It’s over, Roy,” Anirban said, his voice steady but filled with fury. “This ends tonight.”
Roy’s lips curled into a smile, but there was no humor in it—only a cold, calculating look in his eyes.
“You think so, Detective?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The game has only just begun.”
Part 9: The Final Confrontation
The room was dim, filled with an air of quiet tension as Anirban and Rhea faced Subir Roy. The stench of old wood, mold, and damp air hung heavily in the space, the distant sound of the river lapping against the banks echoing through the cracked windows. It was the kind of place where people vanished, where things were hidden in the shadows—like the secrets Anirban had spent years unknowingly guarding.
Anirban’s grip tightened around his gun, his heart thumping louder with each passing second. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the realization that he was finally facing the man behind all of it—the one who had manipulated not only Ranjan, but his own father. The same man who had turned Anirban’s entire life upside down, leaving him to play the pawn in his twisted game.
Subir Roy didn’t flinch. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as Anirban kept the gun aimed at his chest. Roy’s eyes, cold and calculating, met Anirban’s gaze with an unnerving calmness.
“You’re making a mistake, Detective,” Roy said, his voice eerily composed. “You think you understand, but you have no idea what’s really going on. What I’ve been trying to do… you can’t stop it now.”
Anirban’s voice was low and dangerous, the words spilling out with the venom of years of betrayal. “You killed Ranjan. You used him. You used my father. And now you’ve made me a part of it. It ends here, Roy.”
Roy raised an eyebrow, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “You think you’re the one in control? You think I’m the villain in this story? You’ve been dancing to my tune from the start, Anirban. You just didn’t realize it.”
Anirban’s pulse quickened. He knew Roy was trying to manipulate him, trying to make him doubt himself, but there was no turning back. “You killed an innocent man, and you’ve been orchestrating everything from the shadows. This isn’t just about money, is it? It’s about control, about power. You wanted to own everything—my father, Ranjan, even me.”
Roy’s smile widened. “You still don’t get it, do you? It was never about ownership. It was about truth. You’ve been living in the dark, following a narrative that your father wrote for you. But the truth was always there, waiting to be uncovered. Ranjan was the only one who was brave enough to see it. He knew what your father was capable of. He knew the lies that were hidden beneath the surface. And that’s why he had to go. He would’ve destroyed everything your father built. And if you kept digging, you would’ve destroyed everything too.”
Anirban’s mind raced. The words hit him harder than he expected. His father’s actions, his life—everything had been a carefully constructed lie. And Ranjan, the man who had paid the ultimate price for uncovering it all, had known the truth long before Anirban did.
“Why me?” Anirban asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Why pull me into this? What did I ever do to you?”
Roy chuckled softly, as though the question amused him. “You’re your father’s son, Anirban. You’re part of the legacy. I couldn’t just let you live in ignorance forever. The truth had to come to light. And now, you’re the one who’s going to finish this.”
Anirban’s grip tightened on his gun, but he didn’t pull the trigger. Not yet. There was something else he needed to understand first.
“You’re wrong,” Anirban said, his voice steady despite the rage bubbling inside him. “The truth doesn’t give you the right to destroy people’s lives. Ranjan, my father… they were victims of your lies. And now you’re trying to make me one too.”
Roy’s face hardened, his amusement fading. “You’re wrong, Anirban. You’ve never been a victim. You’re just a pawn, just like Ranjan. And the truth is, you’ll never be free until you understand that.”
Rhea, who had been standing quietly behind Anirban, stepped forward. “Enough talking, Roy. We’re done here. You’re not going to manipulate us anymore.”
Roy’s eyes shifted toward Rhea, a dangerous glint flashing in them. “You think you can just end this, Rhea? You’re as much a part of the game as he is. You think you’ve been helping him, but you’ve been playing right into my hands.”
Rhea’s face was cold. “You’re sick. This isn’t a game. This is about lives. People died because of your greed.”
Roy let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Lives? It’s about something far bigger than lives, Detective. It’s about the truth. And you’re all going to face it, whether you like it or not.”
For a moment, there was silence. Anirban’s mind was still spinning with the implications of Roy’s words, trying to piece together the twisted narrative he had been dragged into. But as the silence stretched, a single thought anchored his resolve. It wasn’t about truth, or power, or control. It was about ending the cycle of manipulation, about breaking free from the chains Roy had wrapped around them.
“You want the truth?” Anirban said, his voice cold and final. “Here it is. The truth is, I’m done playing your game. And I’m not afraid anymore.”
With those words, he pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot rang out, loud and final. Roy’s body jerked back, but he didn’t fall immediately. He staggered, clutching at his chest, his eyes wide in shock. He had thought himself untouchable, had believed that his web of manipulation was too tight to unravel. But Anirban had shattered that illusion.
Roy sank to his knees, gasping for breath, his hands still clutching at the blood that was seeping from the wound. Anirban stood over him, watching as the man who had orchestrated so much pain struggled to draw his last breath.
“Why?” Roy gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Why now?”
Anirban looked down at him, his face hardening. “Because you crossed the line. And I’m done letting people like you control me, my father, or anyone else.”
Roy’s eyes flitted between Anirban and Rhea, and then, with a final, shuddering breath, he collapsed, his body going limp.
Anirban stood motionless for a moment, the weight of the gun in his hand now feeling heavier than ever. He had done it. The game was over. But the price had been high. The truth had come at a cost.
Rhea stepped forward cautiously, her voice trembling. “Is it over?”
Anirban looked down at Roy’s lifeless body, then back at her. His voice was hollow. “For now. But the truth doesn’t just go away. It leaves scars. And those scars are going to take time to heal.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the echoes of the gunshot still lingering in the air. The killer was gone, but the aftermath of his actions would continue to reverberate through Anirban’s life. The truth had set him free, but it had also shattered everything he once thought he knew.
As they walked out of the warehouse and into the early morning light, Anirban felt a strange sense of release. The darkness that had hung over him for so long had lifted, but he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. The past had a way of haunting those who dared to confront it. And for Anirban, the road to redemption would be long. But for the first time in years, he felt like he had a chance to start again.
The truth had destroyed so much, but now, it was time to rebuild.
Part 10: Break Free
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden glow over the city as Anirban and Rhea walked away from the warehouse. The air was thick with the dampness of early morning, and the streets, still quiet from the late-night events, seemed to be slowly awakening with the promise of a new day.
Anirban felt exhausted, like he had run a marathon only to come face-to-face with the realization that the race would never truly end. His mind still spun with the weight of the choices he had made, the truth he had uncovered, and the life he had left behind in the aftermath of it all. The killing of Subir Roy, the man who had orchestrated everything, was supposed to be the end of a long chapter, but for Anirban, it felt like only the beginning of something new—and he wasn’t sure what that something would be.
“Do you feel… anything, sir?” Rhea’s voice broke the silence between them, and Anirban turned to see her walking beside him, her expression unreadable.
Anirban stopped, his eyes drawn to the rising sun ahead. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’ve just ended a life. I know he was a criminal, that he deserved to be stopped, but—” She paused, her gaze flickering toward the street. “But does it feel… right?”
Anirban looked at her, feeling a flicker of something he hadn’t expected. It was guilt—yes, but it was more than that. The act of shooting Roy had been necessary, but the weight of taking a life still lingered in his chest. He was a detective, a man who had spent his life enforcing justice, not dispensing it with his own hands. Even though Roy was a villain, even though Roy had manipulated him, used him as a pawn in his dark game—there was a part of Anirban that couldn’t shake the finality of the moment.
He let out a long breath, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s hard to explain. But it’s not about feeling right or wrong. It’s about stopping him from hurting anyone else. I did what had to be done.”
Rhea nodded, her eyes hardening with the same resolve. “I know. I just… I keep thinking about how things could have been different. If we had found him sooner, if Ranjan was still alive… Maybe things wouldn’t have had to go this far.”
Anirban remained silent. He, too, had thought about the same things—how if only they had been able to protect Ranjan, if they had acted faster, if they hadn’t been manipulated by Roy and his lies, perhaps the entire spiral of events could have been avoided. But life didn’t work that way. Sometimes, choices led to consequences that could not be undone. And sometimes, the only thing left to do was face the fallout.
As they reached the car, Anirban noticed the weariness in Rhea’s posture. She had been through just as much as he had, and though she had handled herself with incredible strength, he could tell that the weight of the case had taken a toll on her as well.
“Let’s get some rest,” Anirban said, turning to her with a small, weary smile. “We’ve earned it.”
Rhea returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll follow you, sir.”
They both got into their cars, and as Anirban drove through the streets of Kolkata, the familiar sights and sounds of the city took on a new meaning. The vibrant chaos, the honking horns, the bustling markets—these were all things he had seen a thousand times before. But today, they felt different. The city was alive, but for the first time, Anirban truly felt detached from it. There was a divide now, a crack between the life he had lived and the one he had just started to uncover.
The familiar buzz of his phone broke his reverie. It was Rhea.
“Sir,” she began, her voice tight, “I’ve been thinking about what Roy said. That we were all part of his game. That we were all being played.”
Anirban’s grip tightened on the wheel. “You think he was right?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about it. We spent so much time trying to find the killer, trying to solve the case, but what if we were always just following a trail that Roy laid out for us? What if he wanted us to find him?”
Anirban chewed on that thought as he steered through the streets. Roy had always been one step ahead, playing a game with rules no one else knew. But now, it was over. Roy was gone. The killer was dead.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Anirban said quietly, “who set the trail. The point is, we followed it. And we stopped him. That’s what matters now.”
Rhea didn’t answer immediately, but Anirban could hear the doubt in her silence. He could feel it too, in the pit of his stomach. Had they been manipulated into playing Roy’s game? Was there some deeper purpose to Roy’s actions that they hadn’t yet understood? Perhaps the answers weren’t as simple as they seemed. Perhaps Roy had been more than just a criminal mastermind—he had been a reflection of everything Anirban feared.
He pushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the here and now. The investigation was over. Roy was dead. And for better or worse, the truth had come out.
That night, as Anirban lay in his bed, the weight of the past finally seemed to settle on him. He stared at the ceiling, his mind whirling with fragments of the case, with images of Roy’s twisted smile, Ranjan’s lifeless eyes, and the chilling truth that had been exposed.
The phone buzzed again.
It was a message from Rhea: You did the right thing today. We’ll figure out the rest, together.
Anirban stared at the screen for a moment, letting her words sink in. She was right. The road ahead was uncertain, but at least he wasn’t walking it alone. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to close his eyes, the weight of the day pulling him into sleep.
Days passed, and the city slowly began to recover. The news of Subir Roy’s death spread quickly, and the scandal surrounding his connections to the firm, the corruption, and the manipulation of Ranjan’s life became front-page news. Anirban had no desire to be a part of it—no desire to be in the spotlight, to be heralded as the hero who had stopped a criminal. He didn’t need the recognition. He just wanted to move on.
But the past wasn’t finished with him.
One afternoon, as Anirban walked through the quiet streets of the city, his phone rang again. This time, it was a call he wasn’t expecting.
“Detective Ghosh,” the voice on the other end said, “We have some new information about Ranjan Chakraborty’s death. It’s not over yet.”
The air seemed to freeze. Anirban’s heart began to race again. The truth had set him free, but it wasn’t done with him yet.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“We’ve found something,” the voice continued. “Something that will change everything.”
Anirban’s mind raced, but there was only one thing he could think to say.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
And with that, the story wasn’t over. Not yet.
END
