I stared at the name.
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then I whispered it.
“Rajendra Sharma.”
My father.
Devendra watched my face carefully.
“You recognize him.”
I nodded.
“My father.”
He leaned back slowly.
“I thought you might.”
I looked again at the document.
The account number.
The transfer.
The date.
Three days after my mother had been forced out of the company.
“How much?”
Devendra didn’t answer.
“How much money was transferred?”
“Eight lakh seventy thousand rupees.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Twenty-seven years ago, that was a fortune.
“My father didn’t have that kind of money.”
“That is what we believed.”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
Devendra opened another file.
“Your father’s account received several transfers over fourteen months.”
He placed the statements in front of me.
I read them one by one.
The first transfer.
Then another.
Then another.
All from accounts connected to Arvindh Global.
My fingers began trembling.
“But why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“You said my mother discovered where the stolen money was going.”
“Yes.”
“And it was going to my father?”
“Some of it.”
“Some?”
Devendra nodded.
“There were other accounts.”
I stared at him.
“Whose?”
He turned one page.
I saw another name.
My father’s younger brother.
Mahendra Sharma.
I felt dizzy.
“My uncle?”
Devendra nodded.
“Your uncle received money too.”
I sat back.
For years, I had believed my mother’s life had simply fallen apart because she was too proud to compromise.
I had believed my father had been the victim of circumstances.
Now the entire story was changing.
“Why would my mother protect them?”
Devendra looked at me.
“She wasn’t protecting them.”
“Then what was she doing?”
“She was protecting you.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
He closed the file.
“Go home tonight. Don’t tell your father what you know.”
“Why?”
“Because if he was involved, he needs to believe the secret is still safe.”
I stood.
“What are you planning?”
“An investigation.”
“And me?”
“You keep doing your job.”
I almost laughed.
“My mother spent twenty-seven years believing she had lost everything because of this company.”
Devendra’s voice softened.
“She didn’t lose everything.”
“What did she lose?”
He looked at me.
“She lost the chance to tell you the truth.”
I went home that evening carrying a secret heavier than the handbag on my shoulder.
My father was sitting in the living room watching television.
He looked up.
“You’re home late.”
“I had work.”
“How is the new job?”
“Good.”
He smiled.
“I told you that company was too big for you.”
I forced a smile.
“It seems they disagree.”
He laughed.
“Your mother would have been proud.”
The words almost made me tell him everything.
Instead, I sat opposite him.
“Papa?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember Arvindh Global?”
His hand stopped on the remote.
Only for a second.
Then he changed the channel.
“Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.”
“Your mother worked there.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“I found an old newspaper clipping.”
His expression changed.
“What clipping?”
“About Ma leaving the company.”
“She resigned.”
“That is what I always heard.”
“She did.”
“Did she?”
My father’s face hardened.
“Vaidehi, what are you trying to say?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Don’t dig into old things.”
“Why?”
“Because dead people don’t need their mistakes reopened.”
I felt a chill.
“My mother made mistakes?”
He looked away.
“She was stubborn.”
I stood.
“Good night, Papa.”
As I walked toward my bedroom, I heard him call my name.
“Vaidehi.”
I turned.
“Your mother loved you.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you hear about those days…”
He paused.
“Remember that.”
I didn’t answer.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
**You should stop asking questions.**
I sat upright.
Another message arrived.
**Your mother learned what happens to people who don’t know when to stop.**
My hands went cold.
I called Devendra.
He answered immediately.
“You received a message.”
It wasn’t a question.
“How did you know?”
“I received one too.”
“What did yours say?”
“Same thing.”
I stared at the screen.
“Who is sending these?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rishabh?”
“Possibly.”
“Or my father?”
There was silence.
Then Devendra said:
“Possibly.”
The next morning, I went to work early.
Rishabh was already there.
He stood beside the glass corridor, speaking to someone on the phone.
When he saw me, his expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
As though he had expected me.
He ended the call.
“Good morning, Ms. Sharma.”
“Good morning.”
He smiled.
“You settled in quickly.”
“I try.”
His eyes moved toward my saree.
“You’re still wearing those?”
I looked down.
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Nothing.”
He walked away.
I watched him disappear into his office.
