Atul stepped out of the arrival gate at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport, his eyes scanning the sea of faces for someone holding a sign with his name.

There, amidst the crowd, he spotted it – a white placard with four names neatly printed in black: “Atul Anand, Maya Sahdev, Sudhakar Menon, Vikas Kumar.” A man in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers held it aloft, his eyes darting between the arrivals.

Atul approached him, his heart racing with excitement and a tinge of nervousness. “Hello, I’m Atul Anand,” he said, extending his hand.

The man’s face lit up with a practised smile. “Ah, Atul! Welcome to Bangkok. I’m Rajesh Iyer, HR, overseas lead for A-cent Tech Solutions.” He shook Atul’s hand firmly. “Let’s wait for the others.”

One by one, the others joined them. Rajesh introduced them to each other. Maya, who looked like the youngest of them, seemed diffident, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her shoulder bag. Sudhakar looked bewildered with the bustle of the airport around him while Vikas kept moving in excitement as he peppered Rajesh with questions about the workplace.

As they gathered their luggage, Rajesh cleared his throat. “Now, there’s been a slight adjustment to the plan,” he continued, speaking fast. “We need you to start with some preliminary training at our specialised facility in Cambodia. It’s only for a month and you’ll be paid the normal salary.”

Atul was surprised. Cambodia? That wasn’t part of the plan. He looked at the others. Sudhakar’s face mirrored his concern, Vikas didn’t seem to care and Maya glanced from one to the other.

“But … my visa is for Thailand,” Sudhakar said with a frown.

Rajesh waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. We’ve got it all covered. Your e-visa has been applied for. It’s a great opportunity, really. You’ll get specialised training that’ll put you ahead of the curve.”

Atul felt a nervous knot in his stomach. This wasn’t what he had been told. He pulled out his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he dialled the number of Sharma ji, the agent in Delhi who had coordinated the interviews.

“Haan, Atul beta?” Sharma ji’s familiar voice crackled through the speaker.

“Sharma ji, I am at the Bangkok airport. One HR person is here, but he says I need to go to Cambodia for training. Is this … is this normal?”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make Atul uneasy. Then Sharma’s voice came back, overly cheerful. “Arrey, don’t worry, beta! These big companies, they have their ways. If they’re sending you for special training, it must be good, no? Just go with it. It’s all okay.”

Atul thanked him and disconnected. He saw Maya whispering into her phone and called his father. Rajesh checked his watch impatiently. “We need to move, the flight leaves in two hours.”

With a deep breath, Atul ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

Rajesh clapped his hands together. “Alright, everyone ready? Let’s go catch that flight to Phnom Penh!”

Atul shouldered his backpack and laptop bag and rolled his new suitcase as the group moved towards the departure gate. He had dreamed of this moment for so long – his first step into a new life, a chance to make his family proud. Now, as he followed Rajesh towards the departure gates, he had that uneasy feeling that some people get with a sudden change in plans.

Nitesh Mishra seemed to have somehow shrunk over the course of the day as he sat hunched over his laptop, his eyes bloodshot and his nerves frayed. The room that had once felt like his safe space, where he had written news reports and helped his two kids with their homework, now felt like a prison cell. Nine hours had passed since he had answered the call, each hour feeling like an eternity of fear and uncertainty.

A new voice crackled through the laptop, deep and authoritative. “This is Officer Makhija from the Enforcement Directorate – the ED. I’ll be overseeing the final stages of this investigation.”

Nitesh’s heart sank. Another official, that too from the feared ED. He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the headache that had been building all day.

“Yes, sir,” he managed, his voice hoarse from hours of talking.

Outside the room, Nitesh’s wife, Madhu, paced nervously. She had followed his instructions to the letter, keeping the children away and maintaining silence about the situation. Twice she had almost called her brother, a bank manager in Pune, but Nitesh’s warnings about “strict confidentiality” had stopped her.

Back in the room, Nitesh’s screen was a maze of open windows – bank statements, investment portfolios and a seemingly endless questionnaire. He had answered over four hundred questions, each one more intrusive than the last. His eyes drifted to the family photo on his desk.

“Nitesh, we need you to consolidate all your funds into one account,” Makhija instructed. “Have you completed the transfers into your one account as directed?”

Nitesh nodded before speaking. “Yes, sir. I’ve cashed out the FDs and moved everything to my savings account.” He paused, “The PPF account I can’t touch.”

“We know!” Makhija replied, almost too quickly. “We’re trying to help you here, Nitesh. Don’t let your noncooperation force us to take more … severe measures.”

“And the mutual funds?” the voice of Vaibhav Desai chimed in.

“I’ve placed redemption requests for all of them.” The words felt like ashes in his mouth. All his life’s savings.

Officer Makhija made a non-committal sound. “Good. Now, as we explained earlier, all your accounts need to be temporarily frozen. So you need to transfer all the money to an RBI-controlled account for safekeeping during the investigation. I believe you have been given that account’s details.”

“I … I’ve added the account to my savings account,” Nitesh said, his voice trembling. “I will be able to transfer after twenty-four hours; transfers over fifty thousand take that much time.”

“Yes, I know,” Makhija replied. “This is standard procedure to prevent fraud.”

Madhu knocked softly on the door, her voice barely above a whisper. “Nitesh? The children are asking about dinner.”

“Nitesh! We’re losing valuable time here. Remember, your cooperation now will determine how lenient the courts will be.” Madhavi Surve’s sharp rebuke left Nitesh no choice.

“Tell them I’m still working,” he called out to Madhu. “I’ll … I’ll be out soon.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Mr Mishra, we’re nearing the end of this process,” Officer Makhija continued, his tone softening now. “Once the funds are secured, we can move forward with clearing your name. You’ve been very cooperative and that will be noted in our report.”

Nitesh nodded mechanically, too drained to feel any relief. The “digital arrest” had taken its toll, leaving him exhausted and disoriented. He glanced at the clock – nearly ten hours had passed since this ordeal began. Outside, the sun had set on Delhi.

Excerpted with permission from Press 9 for a Crime, Shailendra Jha, Penguin India.

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