The Web of Intrigue - 1

3 months ago

Mikky

@MidnightLibrary

The Web of Intrigue - 1

'Source' or' 'informer' ' is one of the tools of the police to crack the hidden details of the suspect . Anyone can be a police source, from local drug or smugglers, sex workers, thieves, local wallet snatchers in public transport . In most cases, they were caught by the police for some minor crime. By secretly supplying information to the police with the promise of a reduced sentence or acquittal. The better the officer's relationship with the source, the more likely that officer is to crack the case.

Zunaid also adapted the same road .

Daksh returned home from his work around 9:30 to 10 o'clock every day after finishing his shifts at the studio. He was an artist by profession. He had made the bold decision to leave his job in pursuit of his passion for art. Every day was a blank canvas filled with imagination, but despite his beautiful life, he was internally empty.

His family never supported his dreams, always telling him that he was ruining his life. The rest of his family members and relatives held prominent positions and were wealthy, some even working in business. Recently, he kept himself busy by trying to come up with some fresh ideas.

However, the company stopped purchasing his paintings following the most recent exhibitions. The only things that clogged his lonely life were drugs and alcohol.

In the rearview mirror of the car, while driving, he noticed a car . It had been going back and forth since yesterday; a fastidious presence sent both shivers of fear and fury down his spine. His brow furrowed in deep concern as tried to shake off the unsettling feelings. The silhouette of a man caught his eye. Oddly, the man wore sunglasses even though it was dark outside, which only heightened Daksh’s suspicions.

His face burned as the realisation hit him like a lightning bolt. ACP Zunaid had sent his police behind him to keep their keen eyes over him. Angry satan bubbled up within his head. He mocked fierce curses to the police in his mind and a cruel twist of fate brought him into this moment.

His heart raced as he navigated the streets, glancing back before each turn to ensure he wasn’t being cornered. He looked back before taking every turn. He mistrusted every new face he met; suspicion has become only his companion.

Perhaps ACP Zunaid is clever," he thought bitterly, "but he underestimates Daksh Singh. I’m the king of this devil’s game. No matter how many tactics they employ, a hundred ACP Zunaid wouldn’t be enough to unearth the truth I hold.”

With that conviction, Daksh steeled himself, determined to outsmart the shadows tailing him, ready to embrace whatever destiny had in store.

Reyansh was also in a similar predicament. He felt uneasy , noticing the same car following him since the morning. He had even spotted it parked near his office during the day.

He drew the curtains and closed the window. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead despite the air conditioning . Fear and desperation engulfed him, threatening to consume him entirely.

He pulled out his mobile from his trousers pocket , and decided to dial someone's number , but his hand hesitated in mid-motion. He had a strong intuition the police might already be tapping their calls . And any mistakes could land him in jail and he couldn’t bear the thought of prison.

He didn't know about Nishant, Daksh and Gautam , but he couldn't stand the pain of being incarcerated . He couldn't leave his family behind . What would they think if they knew about his true self ? Kaviya, his wife , and the only woman he had ever loved, would surely leave him if she found out what he had done.

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Zunaid's mind was a maelstrom of worries, with questions piling up like a mounting storm. Each one dug deeper than the last, leaving him with more questions than answers.

He had scrutinized the CCTV footage of Malhotra Mansion from the day Sanyogita disappeared. What he saw was both fascinating and perplexed him .

On the footage , the moment she had entered her room was captured in it but Zunaid's expression deepened with curiosity when he saw a different person emerge from there.

He had no doubt that Sanyogita had taken help of prosthetic make-up to disguise herself. As a professional fashion designer , she had honed skills in make-up artistry , particularly in concealing one's identity.

She had left the room just past thirty eleven at night, dressed in a black shirt and also the same colour pants which only give her an opportunity to hide under the camera in dim light . Sporting a convincing false beard and mustache that transformed her into a man.

Under the erie of soft glow of the dim lights , he watched the footage . She strolled down through the hallway and pacing through the expansive living room . Her movements were fluid and calculative.

Being the family members Of the Malhotra family she was aware of the security with ease.

His astonishment grew as he watched her emerge from the cab near a bustling club to see her come. The same one mentioned by Nishant, Reyansh, and Daksh had visited for Nishant's birthday party . The club was teeming and that made it challenging to scrutinise Sanyogita move .

Despite repeatedly scrolling through the footage, Zunaid couldn't pinpoint the moment she exited the club. “How could that be possible? She entered the club , but why didn't she come out ?

Zunaid had talked with the club staff and Manager regarding the party of the Ranawat along with his fellow friends. The Club Manager confirmed they had received a payment and the celebration lasted till two in the morning . But Mr.Ranawat stayed.

Zunaid nodded slightly. “And where was Ranawat staying?”

The manager hesitated. “He... requested a room on the upper floor. One of our premium suites—reserved for couples.”

Zunaid’s brow furrowed. “Couples? Are you saying Nishant Ranawat wasn’t alone?”

“Yes, sir,” the manager replied, lowering his voice. “He was accompanied by a woman.”

Zunaid leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Do you have her details?”

“We do, sir. ID was submitted at check-in. I’ll get you a copy.”

A few minutes later, Zunaid and his team studied the documents. Something didn’t sit right. The name, the address—they seemed too perfect. Too clean.

Zunaid’s eyes narrowed. “Fake identity,” he muttered. “No digital trail, no verified records.”

ASP Zoya leaned closer, scanning the details again. “Who is this girl then? A call girl? An accomplice? Or someone else entirely?”

Zunaid didn’t answer right away. He stared at the photo attached to the fake ID, a familiar edge creeping into his voice.

“Whoever she is... she didn’t just end up in that room by chance. Find out everything you can. This might be bigger than we thought.”

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Zunaid's mind gathered with umpteen of questions as he discussed his findings with junior officer Zoya .

One : “ How could Bhabhi manage to enter the club without being noticed leaving “

“Furthermore, Gautam had also returned home late , and only to leave for business meetings in the same morning .

Zunaid's eyes narrowed as he added another puzzle piece.

Four : If Bhabhi went to that club , why did her phone's last signal come from a hotel?”

In that instant he got a call from the inspector “ Sir ! Nishant has left the house at night and is heading towards Thane !”

“Chase him, Ravindra . We are coming!”

“ Okay, sir “

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Thirty minutes ago,

Nishant was sitting on the plush bed of his master bedroom, immersed in business work. His focus unwavering until a man entered. His presence alarmed Nishant.

“Sir, two people are watching the villa round the clock. Looks like they’re surveillance,” he said quietly.

Initially , he had chosen to ignore it . But now , their nagging was getting under his skin. Then suddenly a playful smile curled across his lips, illuminating his otherwise sharp, stoic features.

“Officer, you want me to turn into a doll of your string ?” he murmured. “Let me show you how the real game is played. Let’s see who wins this round of Tom and Jerry.”

Without giving into second thought , he commanded one of his men—matching his height and build—was instructed to wear his clothes , masked fis face and drive his car out of the villa.

What the police didn’t know was that Nishant had already stationed his own spy outside, quietly tracking their every move.

He watched through his CCTV feed as the decoy slid into the car and started the engine. His gaze sharpened with satisfaction . That sly smile still lingered on his face , a hint of his triumph to make a fool out of the intelligent team of ACP Zunaid. He could already hear the police to take their bait.

There was a glint of victory in his eyes. He relished the moment. Now everyone would bow their head before him as if he was the King of the entire world.

He took a glance down at his attire. Dressed in a sleek a black coat over a black shirt and black pants , paired with polished black boots, he looked every bit the man in control.

He stepped out of the room and made his way to the basement. His eyes skewed sideways before entering the room to make sure no-one was around him . He unlocked the door with the help of a key and entered inside and shut it swiftly behind.

This villa wasn’t just a home — it was a kingdom passed down through blood. Built by his grandfather, it stood untouched for decades. But beneath its polished marble and antique floor, Nishant had uncovered a secret only whispered about in his childhood — the tunnel. Although his father and step mother lived at a new bungalow, they visited him often . But he loved this old villa which he renovated for his own interest.

Before returning to India, Nishant had spent years quietly restoring the estate from afar — using offshore accounts, fake names, and silent contractors. The tunnel, once filled with rats and dust, now gleam with reinforced steel walls and a passage so smooth it echoed like a cathedral.

They said his grandfather used it to smuggle freedom fighters during the war. His father turned it into a wine cellar. But Nishant… he turned it into something far darker.

The basement room was bathed under a bright, white light. The room was as big as a football field.His eyes fell on the person lying on the floor, tied in ropes, looking torn, lifeless and calm. With calculative and measured steps he walked ahead.

It was then his eyes drew towards the piano occupied on the corner of the basement room which also was his sanctuary , the every wall , floor , roof , including the furniture in there held back the secret.

He took a seat before the piano and as his hands fell into the keyboard soft melody filled the atmosphere , — tickled his ears, calming his soul. As kept his fingers dancing across the keyboards the rhythm of the music seemed to transform him into a chirping bird. But he wasn't a bird, he was a born wolf that was born to slaughter his prey.

Suddenly, his gaze turned bloodshot , vessels standing out starkly . “Prithvi, you've made my life hell by sending me to jail . Now it's my turn . How will I bring melancholy into your life and that of your so-called wife ” His pulse throbbed against his temple as past memories haunted him like the whispers of a cold breeze .

“It had been more than 24 hours , and no one knew about Mrs. Malhotra's disappearance . It's quite unfair for the hardworking media and the enthusiastic people of Mumbai not to be aware of it “ A mischief smiled dance across his lips before he erupted into a maniac laughter .