Yuvraaj is on the brink of great success but his wealthy father’s death disrupts everything

Two police officers, a man and woman, stand outside our main conference room, cutting very imposing figures as they glare at the ‘900 million USD’ Ananth had scrawled on the wall a few hours ago. A hush has fallen on the office as Go-Go’s employees have paused their work to crane their heads discreetly above their cubicles, like spectator ostriches waiting for the action in the jungle to begin.

I can almost hear necks whip back and crack as I march through the wider office up to the old balding man in khaki, Inspector S Bhatt, his pin reads, and his squat female partner, API Indrani Sengupta, whose stomach, I realise, is protruding at her uniform’s belt in what could only be a pregnancy.

I realise in relief that if they sent a senior citizen and a pregnant officer to question me, then the charge can’t be very serious. Still, I am annoyed at the attempt at intimidation. I am especially annoyed at the way the two police officers are staring at our financial goals, with their eyes bugging and their lips curled in disdain. The thought bubble is pretty clear above their heads: 900 million? Dollars? Fuck you.

They don’t like me already. Nobody ever likes a near-billionaire. Especially not a public servant.

“Can I help you?”

The officers swing around to face me. Inspector Bhatt narrows his eyes almost instantly. I haven’t tacked on the requisite Sir. And I’m not going to.

“You’ll have to come down to the station with us Mr Khanna,” Inspector Bhatt says.

“What for?” I demand. API Indrani’s eyes widen in shock. They’re obviously not used to being questioned in return. I expect most CEOs simply take them to a side room and offer them cash to go away.

“We want to question you about your whereabouts on the night of your father’s death.” API Indrani has said this loudly. My employees are watching, openly now. I want to slap this woman and her partner. How dare they come into my office and try to create a scene?

“Are you arresting me?” I ask.

They look a little taken aback.

“Not yet,” Inspector Bhatt says, his bald head looming threateningly.

“Do you then have a formal written summons that grants you the authority to take me to your police station?” The officers look dumbfounded, yet again.

Inspector Bhatt grits his teeth. “No,” he relents.

“Then I’d ask you to get out of my place of work or I’ll be suing the police department for intimidation and obstruction of an honest citizen’s livelihood.”

They look shocked now. “SECURITY!” I yell, to show them I’m not bluffing.

My security guards look very confused. I don’t think they’ve ever been commanded to escort police officers out of a premises in their entire career as guards.

“Wait!”

Sanjanaa appears, slightly breathless, as though she’s run through the lobby of One BKC to get to our office in time. She doesn’t seem surprised to see the police there. She rushes to me, worried.

“Sir, madam,” she says to the officers. “Please come in, we’ll answer whatever questions you may have.”

“Sanjanaa …” I say formidably but she shoots me a look that is so desperately pleading that I understand, immediately, that this is of more importance than I had suspected. Something happened at her lunch with Dhan. Enough, I suppose, for her to know to come here, just before I throw two police officers out of my office.

I let her take the lead.

We settle in the conference room, and she orders the officers tea and biscuits. Their ego seems soothed already, but instead of nodding at my fiancée in gratitude, they’re looking at her in supercilious approval, as one does with a servant or pet. It makes my blood boil.

Sanj presses her thumb into my palm under the table. Before I can say anything to take hold of the situation again, she speaks:

“Why don’t we get the questioning out of the way as soon as possible, Inspector? We’re eager to help you in any way possible.’ Inspector Bhatt flicks a contemptuous glance at me. ‘Where were you the night your father died?”

“It is of no consequence where I was. My father died of a heart attack while having dinner at a restaurant with his second wife and son.”

“Answer the question.”

“Please, just answer the question, Yuvie,” Sanj whispers. I swallow my irritation.

“Fine. I was at another restaurant, The Table, having dinner with my fiancée, my mother and three members of GoGo’s team. We were celebrating our latest round of funding …”

My voice must have risen in bluster because Sanj presses her hot little thumb into my palm again. Her hand is slick with sweat, surprisingly. I wonder why she’s so goddamn scared. Dhan must have told her something. I can’t believe I forgot that her psychotic friend was part owner of the restaurant my father died at. In my defence, Dhan was part owner of many things and interested in none of them.

I wonder if Dhan was there that night.

Now I’m sweating. She couldn’t have seen me, could she?

“Celebrating a round of funding huh?” Bhatt’s eyes flit to the “900 million USD” written on the wall of the conference room. He spits the next bit at me. “Must be nice, to be a near-billionaire.”

There’s venom in the inspector’s voice. It takes a focused effort for me to swallow the answering venom that has risen to my tongue. Sanj’s entire hand is gripping my wrist now. It’s clear what she’s intimating to me: Please. Play nice.

Excerpted with permission from Death of a Gentleman, Riva Razdan, Penguin India.

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