Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I was expecting to hear voices at any second, see headlights spearing through the windows, followed by the sound of a police siren, but the world was as silent as when I’d entered. Shimmying my way out of the window, I didn’t dare linger to catch my breath and—after shoving the papers into my waistband—quickly scaled the fence.
I was literally two meters down the sidewalk when headlights turned into the street. Sliding back into the dark between the streetlights, I watched as the security guard turned into the drive and stopped in front of the gate.
No dog this time. Different guard.
I waited only until he was inside before making my way to the far end of the street and my own vehicle. Sweat was a sticky paste along my spine, had broken out along my forehead, but I didn’t dare rip off the mask and pull off the hoodie until I was well away from the area, with no signs of pursuit.
The papers I’d thrown onto the passenger seat taunted me, but I didn’t try to look at them at the few traffic lights where I had to stop. I wanted the time and light to examine them properly.
The drive to the motel seemed to take forever.
I spotted no lights in the suite occupied by Shumi’s family, and hopefully, Ajay wouldn’t have looked for my car when he returned to the motel. If he had, I’d just say I’d gone to see Diya.
Once inside my room, I stripped down to my briefs and let the air cool down my overheated skin. At least I’d had the good sense to leave a couple of soft drinks in the small fridge, and now opened a cold Coke as I sat down on the bed to go over the papers I’d stolen.
The first overdue invoice was for a small bill from a plumber who seemed to have come in to fix an issue with the employee toilet in their flagship Rotorua store.
I set it aside.
Big businesses often pulled this shit, keeping up their bottom line while drawing out payments to smaller players, well aware of who held the power in the situation. What was the plumber going to do? Not do business with what was probably a major client that did always come through on the bills even if they took their time?
The next two invoices were similar. I was starting to think I’d wasted the entire night when I realized the amount of zeroes on the bill now in my hand. I whistled through my teeth as I read it through. It was an invoice for the rental on the Rotorua warehouse.
Elektrik Ninja was four months behind.
The next invoice was from a major supplier and it bore a curt coda: All shipments on hold until invoice paid.
My temples throbbed. Why had these been on what I assumed was the warehouse manager’s desk, rather than going to Bobby at his much nicer office at the flagship store? Because the warehouse manager handled any bills related to the warehouse? No, that didn’t explain the plumber’s bill. Maybe the entire senior team had just gathered there for an emergency meeting after the fire.
Whatever the reason, one thing I knew: Bobby had been about to lose everything.
A flash of memory, Rajesh slapping Bobby on the shoulder at the party as he told a friend how proud he was of his children. “Bobby’s built his own life, and he never rode on my coattails even when I wanted him to! Now Diya’s going to be settled with an accomplished life partner. I’m a very lucky man.”
At the time, I’d just been annoyed that Rajesh was ignoring Diya’s success as an event planner, had held my tongue only because I’d been standing with another group nearby, not actually part of that conversation. But now I thought back. Bobby had smiled and shaken the hand of his father’s friend, nothing in his expression giving away the panic that had to be churning inside him.
His entire identity had been about his success as a self-made man. Men like that didn’t like to admit to failure. In the worst cases, they decided that the only way to escape what they thought of as their shame was to ensure there was no one left alive to witness it.
* * *
—
Before finally falling into a fitful sleep, I sent Ackerson an anonymous tip via a throwaway email address: Bobby Prasad wasn’t as successful as everyone thinks. Look at his business accounts. He couldn’t even pay his rent! His shops would soon have nothing to sell because no one was going to extend a further line of credit to such a loser!
I’d deliberately written it in a mean-spirited tone as might come from someone passing on gossip. But I couldn’t base all my hopes on Ackerson following that thread and realizing that Bobby had likely murdered his entire family to save himself from the humiliation of having to admit his failure.