Chapter 16: The Dig

The ETF’s archive room echoed with the soft rustle of aged paper and the distant hum of old fluorescent lights.

Riya sat alone, hunched over her desk, lost in a fortress of dusty files and handwritten notes. Her sleeves were rolled up, brows furrowed, and her untouched coffee had long gone cold.

She muttered under her breath, flipping through the catalogue log again.

“Box 42A… where are files #C302 and #E739?”

Her eyes scanned the faded titles in the log book, fingers brushing across aged labels. She stopped.

File #C302: “Homicide – 2018”

File #E739: “Hostage and Ambush – 2024”

Both… missing.

“Why would these go missing?” she whispered, tension creeping into her voice.

Those weren’t just random files. They were both from high-profile timelines, both tied to unusual redactions in internal briefings she had studied. Something wasn’t adding up.

--

Riya sat at a dusty terminal deep in ETF’s technical wing, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She had bypassed Level 2 clearance and tried to dig deeper into the missing case logs through ETF’s digital vault.

A blinking message flashed on the screen:

Access Denied. Level 4 Clearance Required.

She exhaled sharply. Just as she leaned forward to try again, a cold voice spoke behind her.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

Riya flinched, startled.

Arjun Raute stood just behind her, arms crossed, his gaze like a blade—sharp and steady.

“I—I was just checking something. Cleaning up loose ends from the record room.” she replied quickly, trying to stay calm.

Arjun’s voice dropped, low and controlled. “You’re poking around in files you weren’t assigned.”

“These files…",she handed a piece of paper with those file names written to him, "they don’t open anymore,” she said, forcing eye contact. “And they’re missing physically. Shouldn’t that raise concern?”

He spared a glance at the words- written and missing.

File #C302: “Homicide – 2018 -- Roshni Raute"

File #E739: “Hostage and Ambush –2024 -- ETF Female Officers ”

Arjun took a step forward, crushing the paper in his fist. His tone hardened. “Files no longer open for a reason.”

“I know I wasn’t told to check those—but isn’t it odd that only those two are—”

“You think you’re here to investigate the investigators, Ms. Mukherjee?” he snapped.

Riya froze. Her throat tightened. She didn’t expect this kind of wall.

“No, sir. I just saw inconsistencies…”

Arjun’s jaw clenched. A flicker of something—worry, maybe—passed through his eyes. But it disappeared as fast as it came.

“Stay in your lane, Riya. This isn’t your battlefield.”

His voice was colder than the air between them.

A long silence stretched.

Riya decided to move out of the scene as soon as possible when a voice startled her.

“Riya.”

She stopped in her tracks. Another round of scolding was on the cards.

“Yes, sir?”

She frowned and turned around, confused.

“Is something wrong?”

Arjun didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he dropped a piece of paper on the table. It slid towards her.

A bank transfer receipt. ₹1,00,000. Her name. The recipient: Shambhu Das.

She froze.

“Interesting gesture,” Arjun said, tone deceptively light, laced with sarcasm. “Tell me, Riya—are we running a charity from ETF’s records room now?”

Riya’s throat dried. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Arjun stared at her, waiting.

“I… saw him on a call a few weeks ago. He sounded desperate. Something about a medical emergency. I asked him if he was okay, he didn’t say it, but when I forced him, he told me his sister needed a surgery and he didn’t know how he’d afford it.”

Arjun arched an eyebrow.

“So naturally, your instinct was to toss him a lakh? Pocket change for you, I assume?”

His voice was calm, but biting.

Riya winced, but held her ground.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He took a step forward. “How was it then, Riya? Are you in the habit of handing out six-figure ‘accidental’ transfers to every office staff who looks upset?”

She clenched the file tighter to her chest. Her voice faltered—just slightly.

“I… I meant to transfer ten thousand. It was a mistake. I hit an extra zero.”

Lie.

But she said it with the most neutral expression she could muster.

Arjun tilted his head, studying her, a smirk playing across his usually stern face. For a second, it almost looked like he wanted to believe her stupidity and lies—but wasn’t sure why.

“Of course,” he said, sarcasm dripping. “A simple typo. Must be nice to have a balance where an extra zero doesn’t make you blink.”

She looked away, eyes fixed on a mark on the table.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

He scoffed.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”, she finally snapped. “That I tried to help someone and it doesn’t sit well with your definition of ‘protocol’? That you’re uncomfortable that someone you don’t like might just be… human? Is it a crime to help someone when in need?”

Her words hung in the air.

Arjun stared at her, something flickering behind his eyes. A mixture of irritation… and something else he refused to name.

He turned away from her, his back now to her.

“Just… be more careful about who you trust,” he said quietly. “Not everyone in this building or this world deserves your sympathy.”

Riya didn’t respond. She bit her inner cheek to stop herself from saying something emotional. He wouldn’t understand. He’d twist it into weakness.

But behind her silence was a truth: she hadn’t told him the real reason. She could have. But Kabir’s words still echoed in her mind—“Not everyone will understand generosity the same way you do, Ri. Especially not someone who’s spent his whole life fighting for everything.”

If Arjun Rawte saw the Mukherjee surname for what it really was—legacy, old money, power—he’d walk away faster than she could explain, judging her at every step.

So she stood there, letting the lie simmer between them.

“Noted, sir,” she said flatly.

He finally dropped a sealed file on the desk beside her.

“You’ve got new boxes arriving. Digitize, catalogue, and prepare monthly summaries. No more questions.”

And just like that, he walked out, eyes on the piece of paper—leaving the room colder than before.

--

Riya opened her locker, exhausted and worn. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her bag.

A small slip of paper fluttered out.

She bent down and picked it up.

One sentence—scrawled in rough ink:

“You dig, you die. Just like the others. You’re not special.”

Her heart raced. Her eyes widened.

She glanced around the empty locker room.

Her voice came out in a whisper.

“This isn’t a coincidence anymore.”

--

At an unknown location, the only light came from a flickering overhead bulb. Shadows loomed over a table scattered with photographs, case files, and cigarette ash.

Three men stood around it—Pathan Lala, Mirza, and Jamal—the last pieces of Sikander’s broken inner circle.

“She’s getting too close,” Mirza grunted, his eyes bloodshot. “Digging in the past. Digging where she shouldn’t.”

“And Raute?” Jamal spatted bitterly. “He’s guarding her like some damn watchdog. Doesn’t even realize he’s already too late.”

Pathan Lala chuckled, lighting a cigarette with a sinister grin.

“Exactly. He’s too busy protecting her… from something she has every right to know.”

“So? What now?” Mirza asked.

“We stop shielding her,” Lala said coolly. “Let her see everything. The truth they’re all desperate to bury.”

“You want to feed her the truth?”

“No,” Lala leaned in. “I want her to trip over it. Let her believe she uncovered it on her own. Let the guilt fall on them.”

Silence fell as they shared a knowing look.

“And when she does…” Lala crushed the cigarette in the tray, “…the past will haunt every single one of them. Just like it did to Sakshi, Lisa, and Ayesha.”

A breeze passed through the cracked window. The files fluttered.

But the silence that followed, it promised chaos.

--

The sky outside dimmed to steel grey. The office had emptied, except for three men sitting around a cluttered table strewn with files, a laptop, and a half-empty coffee flask.

Riya had just left, her departure barely acknowledged by Arjun—who now stood by the whiteboard, arms folded, brow furrowed. He tossed a document down on the table with a sarcastic scoff.

“She says she accidentally transferred a lakh to Shambhu for his sister’s surgery. Mistook it for ten thousand.”

He shrugged mockingly. “Easy mistake to make. If you’re handing out money like Diwali sweets.”

Chotu looked up from his notepad.

“She must be rich. But even so, that's a lot of money to ‘mistakenly’ transfer.”

Shree tapped on his laptop, frowning. “Riya found about the local gang the man belonged to. I cross-checked again. She was right. This group was small-time. They were busted two years ago in a weapons theft case by us. No major power play. They are not high-level enough to orchestrate something this elaborate.”

Arjun stared at the whiteboard, lost in thought. “Exactly.”

There was a long pause.

“They wanted revenge. Fine. But how did they get our mock drill location? Who gave them that kind of specific intel? The exact time and perimeters?”

Shree turned his laptop to face the others. “That’s what I can’t figure out. The drill files were accessed the morning it happened. No trace of external breach. Only internal logins.”

Chotu added, flipping open a folder. “And guess who’s applied for sudden leave today? Shambhu.”

That snapped Arjun’s attention.

“When?”

“This morning. Personal emergency. Says he won’t be in for a few days.”

Arjun’s jaw tightened. “Convenient.”

Shree interjected. “Also, remember how that man said they got complete information about the drill- the place, time, everything at once, that even they thought it was too good to be true.”

Silence. The pieces were floating. But they weren’t landing yet.

Arjun walked around the table, hands behind his back, eyes narrowed.

“It’s too neat. The gang member spills everything too easily. The intel’s too precise. The gang too small to act alone. Shambhu asks for money. Riya gives it. And now we know—Shambhu’s been receiving money from multiple anonymous accounts over the past three months.”

Chotu looked up, brows drawn. “You think Shambhu’s the link?”

Arjun didn’t answer directly. Instead, he picked up a marker and began sketching a timeline on the whiteboard.

Arjun turned to face them, voice low but firm.

“We’ve been looking at the gang. We need to start looking at the trigger.”

Shree leaned forward. “You’re saying… the gang wasn’t the attacker. Just the weapon.”

Arjun nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

He pointed at the center of the timeline.

“Someone used the drill to stage an attack. And someone inside… handed them the matchstick.”

Chotu, for once, looked genuinely disturbed. “But why would anyone target Riya?”

“That’s what we need to find out.” Arjun’s tone grew harder. “But we don’t chase shadows. We wait.”

He looked at Shree.

“Keep surveillance on Shambhu. Tap his calls. Flag any further money transfers.”

Then, a pause. Something lingered in Arjun’s eyes. Guilt… or something deeper.

“And keep an eye on Riya. I don’t care if it’s personal or professional—but someone’s trying to use her. Or get to her. I want to know how, and why.”

They all nodded.

The room remained heavy with unsaid thoughts.

Because the pieces were starting to connect—

But the picture they were forming?

Was darker than any of them expected.

--

In the hotel room, Riya sat alone; the dusty envelope still opened in front of her. The only way to not think anything bad about what Kabir might be going through, in who knows what part of the world, was to drown yourself in work.

She was holding the photograph of the three deceased ETF women, studying it carefully. Her mind raced. While the ETF men tried to keep her away from the truth, who in the world was helping her unravel it.

As she reached into the envelope one more time, she noticed something stuck inside the flap—a folded slip of paper, yellowed and thin.

She pulled it out.

A handwritten address, scrawled in messy ink:

“Factory 17B, Dockyard Road. Come alone. You will find all your answers. No ETF. - A Friend”

Riya’s heartbeat quickened.

“What is this?”

She glanced back at the line written outside the envelope:

“For the ones who survived by forgetting.”

Her eyes narrowed. Determined.

--

Hey readers! 🌟 If you've made it this far, thank you so much for joining me on this journey—it means the world.

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