บท 19: 77. “Let’s Meet The MLAs, Shall We?”
(A/N: I'm sorry, guys, but I'm feeling sick and can only write this much. My brain isn't working properly, and my exam is also coming up on December 16. Life really sucks right now. Hope you understand.)
[KRISHNA'S POV]
As Brahma and I stepped out of the ashram, the scene before us unfolded like a chaotic battlefield. Reporters crowded the gates, their microphones poised like weapons, their shouts creating a deafening roar. They jostled and pushed, each one desperate to be the first to breach the barrier.
I paused for a moment, taking in the sight with a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The frenzy, the desperation—it was all too predictable. I turned to Reddy, who was standing by the gate, his expression one of barely concealed annoyance.
"Open the gate, Reddy," I said, my tone calm yet commanding.
Reddy hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at Brahma, who nodded reluctantly. With a resigned sigh, Reddy moved to the gate and unlocked it. The moment the gates swung open, the reporters surged forward like a tidal wave, nearly toppling over one another in their eagerness to get closer.
"Mr. Krishna, why did you kidnap Miss Jhanvi?" one shouted, his voice barely audible over the others.
"What was your motivation behind this crime?" another demanded, thrusting a microphone toward me.
"Mr. Brahma, are you involved in this as well?" someone yelled, their tone accusatory and sharp.
"Is it true that you killed the society guards during the abduction?"
"What is your ultimate goal, Mr. Krishna? Why are you doing this?"
The barrage of questions came fast and relentless, their words like arrows aimed at piercing through my composure. Brahma stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening as he glared at the reporters. But I, on the other hand, raised my hand, motioning for silence, a disarming smile playing on my lips.
"Calm down, guys, calm down," I said, my voice steady and laced with amusement. The sheer absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me. "But wow. I mean wow. You've already declared me a criminal, haven't you? No trial, no investigation—just straight to the guilty verdict. Impressive."
The reporters fell into a brief hush, surprised by my casual demeanor. I took a step forward, my gaze sweeping across the crowd, meeting each of their eyes with a calm intensity.
The moment I finished speaking, a reporter's voice rose above the murmurs, sharp and probing. "Mr. Krishna, are you saying you're not behind this kidnapping and the alleged murders?"
I tilted my head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "What are you saying?" I replied, my tone dripping with mock surprise. "I can't even bring myself to kill a cockroach—forget about harming people or kidnapping someone. You're giving me far too much credit for a man who gets squeamish over pest control."
A ripple of uncomfortable chuckles ran through the crowd, but another reporter wasn't buying it. "But Mr. Krishna," he countered, stepping forward, microphone extended, "the car used in Miss Jhanvi's kidnapping was your car. What do you have to say about that?"
I raised an eyebrow, my smile never wavering. "Ah, that." I let the word hang in the air for a moment, savoring their anticipation. Slowly, I extended my hand toward Reddy without breaking eye contact with the reporters. Reddy, ever-efficient, immediately stepped forward, handing me a neatly folded sheet of paper.
With deliberate precision, I unfolded the paper and held it up for everyone to see. "This," I began, my voice calm but authoritative, "is the copy of the FIR I filed yesterday evening."
The crowd leaned forward, cameras zooming in, desperate to catch a glimpse of the document. I held it steady, ensuring they could all read it clearly before continuing.
"You heard me right," I said, my tone now edged with just the right amount of seriousness. "Yesterday evening, someone stole my car. The moment I realized it, I filed a report with the local police station. For your information," I added, letting the words sink in, "I filed this report well before last night's kidnapping incident took place."
The reporters exchanged glances, the air buzzing with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. Some began furiously scribbling notes, while others whispered hurriedly into their microphones.
"Now," I said, folding the paper neatly and handing it back to Reddy, "if you want to accuse me of being careless enough to let my car get stolen, then guilty as charged. But linking me to this crime? That's a leap of logic I simply can't let slide."
Brahma stood beside me, his arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. I could tell he was enjoying this as much as I was. The reporters, momentarily stunned, began shouting new questions, their frenzy rekindled.
Before I could even step back, another reporter pushed forward, his voice sharp and eager, "Mr. Krishna, are you suggesting that someone is trying to frame you in this case?"
I let out a soft chuckle, tilting my head slightly, and gave him a calm, measured look. "Isn't that obvious?" I said, my voice steady yet laced with a hint of exasperation. "Someone is definitely trying to trap me. And the saddest part? Instead of doing their actual job, the police seem more interested in finding a convenient scapegoat."
I took a step closer to the throng of reporters, my gaze sweeping over them like a spotlight. "Take ACP Indrajeet, for example," I continued, my tone growing sharper. "The man didn't even bother to investigate properly before pinning the blame on me. Why? Because it was my car involved in the incident? That's all the evidence they need to brand me a criminal?"
I paused, letting the weight of my words hang in the air before adding, "Let me ask you something. Did anyone see who was driving my car last night? Did anyone confirm I was behind the wheel? Or is this entire case built on the flimsy premise that the car belongs to me?"
The crowd murmured, their pens scribbling furiously, cameras zooming in on my face. I could see doubt starting to creep into their expressions, and I seized the moment.
"Let's be honest here," I said, gesturing broadly. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I'd use my own car—a car registered in my name, no less—to commit a kidnapping? Knowing full well that it would lead straight back to me? If I were that foolish, I wouldn't be standing here today as one of the richest and most influential people in the world."
Brahma shifted beside me, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched me effortlessly command the crowd.
"If anything," I added, leaning slightly closer as if sharing a secret, "the fact that my car was used is proof that someone is trying to frame me. It's too obvious, too convenient. And I'm sure you all are smart enough to see that."
The reporters exchanged glances, some nodding, others still scribbling furiously. The tension in the air was palpable, but I maintained my calm, my smile unwavering.
"So, to answer your question," I said, straightening up and meeting the reporter's gaze directly, "yes. Someone is trying to trap me. And trust me, the truth will come out. It always does."
The reporters fell into an uneasy silence, my words clearly leaving them with more questions than answers. For a moment, the only sounds were the faint hum of their recording devices and the occasional whisper among them. Then, as if summoned by the tension in the air, another reporter stepped forward. His voice was cautious but eager, "Do you suspect anyone, Mr. Krishna? Anyone who might be behind this attempt to frame you?"
I let out a soft, almost amused sigh, my gaze shifting from one face to another. "Suspect?" I repeated, smiling faintly. "In a profession like mine, where success breeds envy, I have plenty of enemies. Some openly hostile, others hidden in the shadows. It's the nature of the business."
I paused, letting my words settle, then continued with a tone both thoughtful and pointed. "And now, with Brahma standing on the brink of becoming the next Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh, it wouldn't be far-fetched to think someone might want to sabotage his rise. After all, the stakes are high, and power has always been a dangerous game."
That subtle shift toward politics was enough to spark a flicker of excitement among the reporters. Sensing a potential headline, one of them latched onto my words immediately. "Mr. Krishna," she said, her voice sharp and direct, "are you implying that Miss Satyapriya might be behind this? Are you suggesting she would go as far as to kidnap her own sister and frame you just to stop Mr. Brahma from becoming Chief Minister?"
The name Satyapriya hung in the air like a loaded weapon. Cameras clicked furiously, and I could almost feel the collective inhale of the crowd, waiting for my reaction.
Hearing the reporter's pointed question, I let out a soft chuckle, my smile calm and composed. I wasn't here to provide them with sensational headlines or fuel the flames of political drama. "I don't know who the next Chief Minister will be," I said evenly, my voice carrying just enough weight to command attention, "but I do know one thing—Satyapriya isn't capable of something like this. Not even in her wildest dreams."
My words seemed to shift the energy in the air, but the reporters weren't done yet. Another voice rose from the crowd, challenging yet curious, "Why are you so sure about this, Mr. Krishna? What makes you trust her so implicitly?"
I glanced at the reporter who had spoken, my smile deepening. "Because I know her," I said simply. "Even though I stand here today in support of Brahma, my relationship with Satyapriya has always been one of respect and trust. In fact," I added, leaning slightly forward as if letting them in on a personal truth, "we're friends. And not just political acquaintances—I mean real friends."
The murmurs among the crowd grew louder, reporters whispering into their microphones, trying to gauge the impact of my words.
I continued, my voice unwavering, "For those of you doubting my sincerity, I'll make this clear right now, in front of all of you and everyone watching. If Satyapriya herself wishes to be the Chief Minister, I will support her—without hesitation. Not just me," I said, glancing at Brahma, who stood beside me with a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk, "even Brahma would back her. I trust her abilities, her vision, and her character. I believe she's one of the best candidates this state has."
The reporters froze for a moment, stunned by my declaration. I could see their minds racing, calculating the ripple effect this statement would have on their stories, the political landscape, and their viewers.
Cameras zoomed in, microphones pushed closer, as if trying to capture the sincerity etched into my face.
Hearing my words, a wave of uproar rippled through the crowd of reporters. Their murmurs turned into an excited buzz as they quickly shifted their focus to Brahma. Several voices overlapped as they threw questions at him, one cutting through the noise: "Mr. Brahma, is what Mr. Krishna said true? If Miss Satyapriya is ready to become the Chief Minister, would you support her?"
I turned to look at Brahma, a knowing smile tugging at my lips. He glanced at me, and I could see the slight irritation in his eyes—he hadn't expected me to drag him into this game. I offered him an innocent shrug, as if to say, 'What else could I do?'
He rolled his eyes dramatically, a faint smirk softening his expression, before turning to face the sea of reporters. His voice was calm but carried the authority of someone who understood the weight of his words. "Of course, what Krishna said is true," Brahma began, his smile broadening. "If Satyapriya wishes to take on the responsibility of becoming Chief Minister, I have absolutely no problem with that."
The reporters leaned in closer, their pens scribbling furiously, cameras whirring as they captured every second. Brahma continued, his tone growing more thoughtful. "I know she's more than capable. She's intelligent, dedicated, and has a clear vision for the future. In fact, let me tell you something," he added, his voice softening as if recalling a personal memory.
"Our former Chief Minister, PKR, often said the same thing. Whenever we met, he would bring it up—how much he believed in Satyapriya's potential. He saw her as someone who could take this state to new heights, someone who could continue his legacy with strength and grace."
The crowd erupted once more, their excitement spilling over as they bombarded Brahma with follow-up questions. "Does this mean you're stepping down for her, Mr. Brahma?" one asked. "Is there an alliance forming between you and Miss Satyapriya?" another pressed.
Brahma raised a hand, signaling for calm, but the glint of amusement in his eyes betrayed how much he was enjoying the chaos. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said with a chuckle. "The truth is, this isn't about stepping down or forming alliances. It's about recognizing talent and supporting what's best for the people of Andhra Pradesh. If Satyapriya believes she can lead, then she has my full support."
I watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction, arms crossed as I leaned back slightly. The media had been thrown into a frenzy, but more importantly, the seeds of doubt and speculation had been planted.
I glanced at the reporters, their eyes still glued to me, and smiled confidently. "As for Jhanvi," I said with a light chuckle, "it's the police's job to find her. If they can't locate the daughter of a former Chief Minister even after all this time, well, I can't help but question ACP Indrajeet's competence. Perhaps he isn't the capable man we all thought he was."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and the reporters, sensing the tension, stirred with excitement. They opened their mouths to fire another round of questions, but before they could, the sharp wail of a police siren sliced through the chaos.
All eyes turned to the gate as a convoy of police vehicles approached, led by none other than ACP Indrajeet himself. The flashing red and blue lights illuminated the ashram's entrance, adding a dramatic flair to the unfolding scene. I couldn't suppress the sly smile that crept onto my face. "Speaking of which," I said, tilting my head toward the approaching cars, "here he is."
The reporters quickly shifted their attention, cameras zooming in on the incoming police car. Murmurs and whispers rippled through the crowd as they moved closer to the gate, sensing the possibility of a breaking story.
I stood my ground, calm and unbothered, watching as the car rolled to a halt just outside the gate. The reporters, eager to catch every moment, swarmed around it, their cameras and microphones at the ready. The car door opened, and ACP Indrajeet stepped out, flanked by a group of uniformed officers.
Our eyes met.
I didn't move, but the slight curve of my lips conveyed everything I wanted to say. My smile was calm, but there was an edge to it, a silent declaration that I was in control of this narrative.
Indrajeet, on the other hand, faltered for a split second. His eyes widened in what could only be described as surprise—or was it fear? His steps slowed, and I noticed the slight tremble in his gait. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead despite the cool morning air, and for a moment, he looked like a man walking to his own trial.
But he quickly composed himself, straightening his shoulders as he approached with his officers in tow. By the time he stood before me, he had regained a fraction of his confidence—or at least, he tried to.
"Ah, ACP Indrajeet," I said, my voice dripping with mock politeness as I spread my arms slightly in mock welcome. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit? I didn't realize I was important enough for you to come in person."
Indrajeet stepped forward, his expression a mixture of forced confidence and barely concealed irritation. "Mr. Krishna," he began, his voice tense, "you'll have to come with us to the station."
I tilted my head slightly, maintaining my calm demeanor, and asked with a soft smile, "Do you have an arrest warrant, ACP?"
At my words, his confident façade cracked ever so slightly. He hesitated, his lips twitching as he quickly corrected himself. "I… I don't have an arrest warrant, but we're not here to arrest you. We just need to talk."
The reporters leaned in closer, microphones thrust forward to catch every word. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation.
"Talk, is it?" I said, my tone light, almost playful. "And what exactly do you want to talk about?"
Indrajeet's jaw tightened. He was clearly wrestling with his emotions, anger and unease flickering across his face like a storm threatening to break. "About the kidnapping of Miss Jhanvi," he said, his voice rising slightly. "It was your car—"
"Ah, yes, my car," I interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand to stop him. "The car that was stolen yesterday. I've already filed an FIR, and I've shown the media a copy of it." My smile widened slightly as I added, "You're welcome to check with your officers; they should have the report on record."
Indrajeet froze, his confidence slipping further as he glanced at one of his officers for confirmation. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice sharper now, betraying his growing frustration.
The officer avoided his gaze, looking down at the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. His silence spoke volumes.
Seeing this, the reporters erupted into murmurs, their cameras zooming in on Indrajeet's face as his expression darkened. He turned back to the officer, his voice barely contained. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" he snapped, his face flushing with anger.
The officer stammered, but no coherent response came. As Indrajeet barked at his subordinate, I stood there, hands behind my back, watching the scene unfold with a calm, amused expression. Inwardly, I thought, 'Of course, he didn't tell you. He's on our side, you fool.'
Indrajeet turned back to me, his face flushed with embarrassment and barely concealed rage. He forced a stiff smile and said, "I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Krishna. We'll be taking our leave now."
He spun on his heel, clearly intending to retreat before the situation worsened, but I wasn't about to let him off so easily. "Why the rush, ACP?" I called out, my voice smooth and teasing. "I have a little gift for you before you go."
The words made him freeze mid-step. Slowly, he turned back to face me, his expression a mixture of apprehension and forced bravado. "What gift, Mr. Krishna?" he asked, his voice faltering just enough to betray his nerves.
I reached into my pocket, retrieving my phone with deliberate slowness. The cameras clicked and flashed, the media hanging on every second of the unfolding drama. "Well," I said with a casual shrug, "it's more of a… surprise."
Indrajeet's forehead glistened with sweat, and the sheen only grew as I pressed play on the recording. A voice unmistakably his rang out from the speakers, dripping with entitlement.
"Is everything arranged for tonight? I told you I wanted Chandramati. She's a big star; don't mess this up. I want her in my room by midnight, no excuses!"
The recording played loud and clear, each word landing like a bombshell. Gasps rippled through the crowd of reporters. The cameras zoomed in on Indrajeet, whose face had gone pale as the blood drained from it.
"That's not me!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "This is… this is fake! A fabrication!"
I tilted my head, my smile unwavering. "Oh? Are you sure, ACP?" I asked, my tone dripping with mock innocence. "It sounds an awful lot like you."
As the recording ended, the silence among the reporters was deafening. Indrajeet stood frozen, his wide eyes darting from me to the cameras and back again, his lips trembling as if he were trying to form a coherent response but couldn't.
I tilted my head, my smile calm but edged with a predator's patience. "So, ACP," I said, my tone laced with mock curiosity, "you claim this isn't you? How about this, then?"
With a swipe on my phone, I played a video. This one was even more damning. It showed Indrajeet harassing women in his office, his words vile and full of entitlement. Clips followed of him accepting bribes from shady individuals, making deals with criminals, and even facilitating illegal activities in exchange for personal favors.
The crowd erupted into gasps and murmurs. The media's cameras zoomed in on his face, capturing every drop of sweat that rolled down his ashen cheeks. His legs wobbled, and for a moment, it seemed like he might collapse right there.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a small USB drive. "And here's a little something extra," I said with a smile, tossing it toward the reporters. Several of them scrambled to catch it, their voices overlapping as they asked each other who got it. "That drive contains everything. Every detail, every transaction, every shred of evidence. Enjoy!"
The reporters erupted into chaos, rushing toward Indrajeet with microphones and cameras. "ACP Indrajeet, how do you respond to these allegations?" one shouted. "Is this your voice on the recordings? Are these your actions in the videos?" another demanded.
But before the questions could spiral further, the sound of an approaching car cut through the frenzy. All eyes turned toward the sleek black vehicle pulling up at the gates. The doors opened, and out stepped Vamsi, his commanding presence silencing the crowd. Flanking him were several officers in crisp uniforms.
I called Vamsi back from Mumbai yesterday. Athreya, Sneha, and Bobby stayed behind in the city, tasked with other critical responsibilities. As Vamsi strode toward me with his usual composed demeanor, his sharp gaze landed on Indrajeet. Without a flicker of hesitation, he announced, "Indrajeet, you are under arrest for corruption, harassment, and collusion with criminal elements."
His voice was like cold steel, cutting through the tense atmosphere. Before Indrajeet could react, Vamsi gestured to the officers accompanying him. They stepped forward with practiced precision, clasping handcuffs onto Indrajeet's trembling wrists.
It took a moment for the gravity of the situation to hit Indrajeet. When it did, his face contorted with a mix of rage and disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing?" he barked, struggling against the cuffs. "Do you even know who I am? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Vamsi's expression didn't change. His calm, unflinching demeanor seemed to unsettle Indrajeet further. "As I said," Vamsi replied evenly, "you are now nothing more than a criminal. And as for me…" He paused, letting the moment linger as the reporters hung on his every word. "I am the new Director General of Police of Andhra Pradesh."
The media erupted in a frenzy. Cameras clicked furiously, and reporters shouted questions at once. The revelation was explosive—no one had anticipated this announcement, least of all Indrajeet, whose face went pale as the reality sunk in.
Vamsi turned, ready to lead the disgraced officer away, but I raised a hand. "Wait a minute, Vamsi," I called out.
He stopped mid-step, turning back to look at me. I walked toward him and Indrajeet with deliberate slowness, the crowd parting instinctively to let me through. Standing just inches away from Indrajeet, I met his terrified gaze. His eyes darted around, seeking an escape that didn't exist.
Leaning in close, I whispered, my tone soft but laced with finality, "Choose your enemies and subordinates carefully in your next life."
Hearing my words, Indrajeet's eyes widened unnaturally, his face pale with confusion and terror. His lips trembled as he stammered, "Wh-what do you mean?"
I didn't bother answering him. Instead, I turned my gaze to Vamsi. Without needing any further explanation, he understood exactly what I wanted. Vamsi's expression remained unreadable, but there was a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment. Tomorrow's headlines would scream the news: "ACP Indrajeet found dead in jail, apparent suicide."
Indrajeet seemed to sense it, his survival instincts kicking in as he began to panic. "No! No, wait! You can't do this! You have no idea who I'm connected to—who'll come after you!" His shouts turned to desperate pleas, but they fell on deaf ears as Vamsi's men tightened their grip on him.
As Vamsi began to drag him away, Indrajeet's protests grew louder, his voice almost breaking. He flailed, looking toward the media for salvation, but they were too preoccupied capturing every angle of the spectacle for their TRP-hungry newsrooms. For them, this was gold—a disgraced officer, corruption exposed, and exclusive footage to dominate the evening's breaking news.
I stood still, watching as Indrajeet was hauled away. His shouts echoed in the background, becoming more frantic and incoherent with every step. My expression didn't waver. To the media, I was calm, unshaken—a man who had just orchestrated another masterstroke in a high-stakes political game.
Once the police and media had cleared out, leaving the scene eerily quiet, Brahma finally approached me. He had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the entire ordeal, observing everything with a sharp but contemplative gaze. Standing beside me, he broke the silence with a single question: "What's next?"
I turned to look at him, my smile subtle but deliberate, radiating an air of calculated confidence. "Next?" I repeated, as if tasting the word. "Let's meet the MLAs, shall we?"
(A/N: If you'd like to support me, please use this UPI: omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar". If you do, please let me know your webnovel name so I can recognize you.)
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