Nothing Lasts Forever - No Secret Can Stay Buried

by Vish Dhamija

If there were any positive news from the whole meltdown it was that some investors who had planned not to dematerialise their shares till the last minute, declared their investments early to check if they were victims of the con.

  ***

  Sonny lost practically everything. When he sent his certificates for transfer to various companies, each one turned out to be a fake. His entire inherited wealth, which he had planned his life around, got wiped out. His profession as a chef, which was a pastime, could never bridge the gap between his expensive socialite lifestyle and the money required to maintain it. To make matters worse, he had unsecured debts all over the place that he had incurred knowing he had investments as his insurance, if need be. When his investments become junk overnight, Raaj was long gone and he had no one to turn to. He wanted to warn Serena that Raaj had been taken for a ride, but she was not in India.

  Maybe Raaj had foreseen all this, and what appeared to be an accident was actually a suicide, he deliberated.

  He contemplated telling the police about Raaj, but gave up the idea since he knew it would hurt Serena very much. She had barely shown signs of moving on with her life, and any news like that could break her again and bring her back into mourning. His father had always objected to the idea of him becoming a chef and declining to join the family business. He knew going back to his father to ask for money, to bail him out of this catastrophe, would be the biggest disgrace he could bestow on himself. If he declared bankruptcy, the loan-vultures wouldn't relax till they got the last pound of his flesh — his property, his expensive Ducati and every other personal belonging. Life, he reckoned, would be far from worth living.

  He couldn't imagine how Raaj could have let himself get fooled like this.

  He tried putting up a bold front for his colleagues, by attending the office and working in the kitchen as normal, but his mind was far away, trying to work out his losses and an escape route from reality. Since he had become a senior chef he no longer worked the night shifts and weekends. He came back, from the office, every weekend to hit the bottle and stay locked in his pad until Monday morning, avoiding company as much as possible. But he knew that wasn't a solution; he was only behaving like a rabbit trapped in the headlights.

  On that fateful Friday at work, he got a call from one of his debtors demanding the money back, since the loan they had provided him with had run its due course. He needed to pay the money off with interest by the following week. He knew from experience that individuals and non-banking outfits, which gave unsecured loans, had ways and means to recover them by twisting arms — or worse — if required. Panic set in as he left the office that evening. He stopped at three separate chemists to pick up as many sleeping pills as he could without a prescription. Once at home, he considered writing a note but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to give financial defeat as the reason for his terrible action, for it would only give his dad a chance to blame it all on his mum for allowing him to pursue his hopeless career, and not joining the promising family business. To remove all trace of his lost fortune he tore all the letters from the companies that explained why his junk portfolio could not be redeemed and flushed them down the drain. He then bolted and locked the door firmly from the inside, popped more pills than his body could handle and gulped them down with half a bottle of Bacardi.

  He didn't see the Saturday sunrise.

  On Monday evening, his office reported him missing to the local police station, after they had called and left messages for him throughout the day.

  Senior Inspector of Police, Michael D'Cunha, asked his staff to get a local locksmith. He did his job, but the door was bolted from the inside. With no options left, he gave the order to break the door open. Sonny's body was found in his bed smelling horribly of alcohol and whatever he threw up before his end. The biological cause of his death was revealed by the postmortem, but the real motive baffled the police, neighbours — who had always known him as a happy-go-lucky chap — and his office colleagues whom he had never failed to awe, even at his end.

  D'Cunha's brain went into overdrive when he saw Kim at Sonny's place with some other friends. He made the connection that the couple in the fire-accident case at Worli, which he had solved in the last few years, knew the chef. All his investigations proved that Sonny had picked up the pills on his own, and no one had visited him in the last few weeks. Kim had never visited him at his place before this, although she could plausibly provide some information if the two cases were linked, but he deliberately did not allow himself to follow his train of thought. He was now incredibly close to his promotion, and upsetting his supervisor for a second time about the same suspect was certainly not sensible. Moreover, taking Kim in for questioning would mean a few more aggressive calls and he would have to drop the enquiry anyway.

  Why initiate something that I cannot follow up, he thought, and closed the case. Self-annihilation.

  Sonny's suicide generated a variety of stories by the local tabloids that labelled him as a jilted gay lover, another spoilt son of a rich industrialist, or a drug addict. One of the regular dailies raised a question about his financial state after the recent stock market bubble burst, but it was too dreary a story to attract any attention.

  ***

  By January of 1999, the committee had established that the present value of all the bogus certificates was well over a few million dollars. It could be far greater depending on when they were issued, sold, and how many times each had been turned around, but no one knew that for now. It was made explicit that some counterfeit certificates, which were owned by overseas investors and others held by dubious account holders who might not have sent their holdings for dematerialisation as yet, were not included in this amount. After a few more months of analysis and probing, the committee concluded, quite logically, that the money received from these was certainly not in one of the banks in the country, as they could not find large unexplained amounts of money in any of the bank accounts they had suspected. It had either left the country through several money launderers, or was still stacked in mattresses, which would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to trace. The committee handed the enquiry to the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), as the ugly scam was turning out to be more macroscopic than they had initially anticipated. It looked like the work of an organised crime ring, which had carefully planned this over a period of time, and cunningly got away with the loot, at least for now.

  28

  Cairo, Egypt

  August 26 1999

  Serena's, brilliantly feigned, claustrophobic sickness attack at the pyramids had helped her pull out from the Sharm el Sheikh trip with the rest of her office colleagues. An hour after the coach had left the hotel, Raaj, dressed in full white robe and headgear like a sheikh, got down from the cab and took the elevator without checking at the front desk. He knocked on the door of Serena's room.

  'Who is it?' she asked to confirm no one had returned from her office crowd.

  'It's room service, madam,' he said.

  She recognised the voice and rushed to the door, looked through the eyehole to check and opened it just enough for him to enter, to avoid anyone else watching if there was someone around.

  'Wow…!' he exclaimed the moment he shut the door behind him and turned around to see her.

  Serena had started making efforts for this trip back in Mumbai, when she knew Raaj could make it to Cairo, according to their plan. She had joined a gym to tone up, and standing in the room's entrance passage, against the sun from the blinds that pierced through her sheer satin black silk slip with floral lace in the right places (she had even worn garters to support her black seamed fishnet knickers), she looked gorgeous.

  'Oh my God! You look ravishing.' He whistled.

  'Then why don't you ravish me, Sheikh?' she said, commenting on his attire. 'And please keep your voice low as everyone around thinks I am not well.'

  'It would be difficult for you to keep your screams down,' he muttered before he took his robe off a
nd threw her on the bed.

  'Where did you get this lingerie from?'

  'Remember when I went shopping at Zurich airport? I told you I'd show you what I bought. This was one of the unfortunate ones that I couldn't sport for you back then.'

  'So it's new?'

  'Yes, but worn by your old wife.'

  'Okay… I'll be careful in taking it off.'

  'Tear it off, damn it.'

  He strictly followed orders.

  Serena had put a Do Not Disturb sign on the room even before Raaj had arrived. With no one else in town who knew them, it was a good opportunity to make up for all the lost time. She frequently kept ordering small portions of food so that no one got suspicious of two people staying in her room. In any case food was the last thing on their minds.

  'What next?' she asked pulling a bottle of beer from the mini bar in the room.

  'How're things in Mumbai now?'

  'I told you about Sonny… he killed himself.'

  'I know. I always knew he was spineless, a jellyfish. He simply wanted to enjoy what he inherited from his father. He had no courage or backbone to stand up and face the reality when the time came. All he had lost was inherited wealth. He still had his career and salary to manage his life, but the king of diamonds collapsed like a pack of cards.' Raaj almost lost his temper talking about Sonny.

  'I know. Maybe he didn't have a choice.'

  'In life, there is always a choice. It may be a difficult option, and people might prefer not to exercise it, but there is always choice. I hope you don't feel, in any way, that we are responsible for his death?'

  'No.' Serena's doubts, if any, evaporated when she heard Raaj talk about Sonny.

  'I'm sure they never linked Sonny's suicide with anything financial?'

  'His death didn't make much news.'

  'Was there much news about counterfeit shares? I read on the Internet about a few politicians making a fuss about catching the culprits.' He wanted to know what had happened.

  'As always, they make all the right noises initially to divert the crowd's attention, but then forget about it… you know such plotters.'

  'I am sure they have forgotten about the whole thing by now.' He reassured her and took the bottle from her hand to finish off its content in one large gulp.

  'How long before I can join you?' she asked.

  'If the dust has settled, I think you should ask for a foreign assignment by the end of the year. It might take a while before there is one that suits you.'

  'Where should that be?'

  'The UK, the US, or Canada.'

  'Do you want some beer?' she asked, getting up to get one for herself.

  'Yes please and come back to bed quickly.' If she had to live another year with the memories, as she had said, he wanted to make the most of his time in making them.

  ***

  The two-day honeymoon finished with drinking out of the mini bar and eating the room service sandwiches.

  'When do we meet again?' Serena asked in the morning when she was getting ready to catch her flight back, with the rest of her office colleagues, to Mumbai.

  'I don't think we should meet till you move.'

  'Why?'

  'What if they have uncovered something that links back to me? I am sure they would start following you around,' he explained.

  'Okay. I will ask for a move soon.'

  'Ask by the end of the year sweetheart,' he said, and kissed her goodbye.

  29

  New Delhi

  August 2001

  A minor investigation on some counterfeit share certificates began because of a superficial intervention by a local political party, for its own political mileage, in Mumbai three years ago. This had turned its fortune in the 1999 general elections and, should have been in history's wastebasket by now. But the issue, accidentally, ended up in the recycle bin and got picked up by the party — now in opposition — at the local assembly by-elections, as they wanted to restore the confidence of the electorate in their party by promising to take the inquest to the finishing line. Propaganda being a powerful political tool, the new guardians advocated that the investigation that had gone cold should be picked up again by the CBI to compensate the investors or, at least, convict the culprits. The victims of the scam hadn't forgotten their financial wounds yet and were boisterous at the very mention of the same. Demonstrations started by the party got support from all over the country, and as it gathered momentum, the resulting furore eventually rocked New Delhi. As expected, it was found that the earlier investigation had slowed after being passed down to a powerless sub-inspector because of the lack of a custodian.

  The files were dusted off and pulled out to start afresh, but no one knew where to begin. Officers in the Civil Services knew, and knew well, that a high profile investigation like this one could make or mar their careers, with evidence heavily tipping towards the latter. Experience with the bureaucracy had taught them to stay away from controversial cases like these, as one surmised that something of this nature and scale would either have a godfather in the local mafia, or someone very powerful in the political system itself. They were damned if they didn't close the case on time, and equally damned if they did.

  What relief the affected shareholders would get, or what punishment would be meted out to the guilty, was a secondary objective for the political leaders. A new committee was formed and, in a brilliant PR spin, Mr Gill, a highly respected septuagenarian freedom fighter, was appointed as the chairman, rather than a disgraced politician, like last time. Mr Gill had worked with Gandhi in the struggle for freedom and there was no bigger endorsement than that achievable in a country that still revered the Mahatma. In all fairness, Mr Gill had followed the simplistic regime in the last fifty years after independence and won every single election from his constituency that regarded him as the patriarch. Now that he had retired from active politics and with no real family, it was time for the political party on the bench to make the most of his image for the good of the nation. And, of course, their own benefit.

  Mr Gill was on national television, revelling in the glory of being recognised as one of the few remaining apostles of the legendary Mahatma, assuring the nation that he would fight till the very end to finish the incomplete task handed over to him by the trusting citizens of the country.

  '… I did not fight for the freedom of my country to let it go into the hands of criminals. I pledge to you that I will get to the bottom of this scam… and as some of my critics have raised doubts about my agility — referring to my age, I promise I will not even die before the enquiry brings the culprits to justice…' He declared, without any hesitation.

  As the chairman, the first thing Mr Gill decreed was that the media be divorced from the investigation. He was of the opinion that the more the media flared the whole episode, the more chance it gave the culprits to get far away, and to cover their tracks, if any were left. He understood the enquiry was high profile, but it needed to be kept for internal consumption until they had uncovered everything and made any arrests. He asked for all the files relating to the case to be sent across to him, at his office, to go through the material gathered and the search undertaken so far. There was a plethora of information on what had happened, but embarrassing follow-ups, and no results whatsoever. The earlier investigation had not revealed a slightest clue.

  This could only mean one of two things: either, the enquiry pointed towards some extremely influential individual or group, or the accused had meticulously planned everything to the utmost, he thought.

  Disappointed by the files but not discouraged, he called for the list of the most competent senior officers in the police force and CBI. In normal circumstances, the establishment would have taken weeks to compile such a list, but this time the file listing the top ten officers was provided to him in two days. He went through the files and records of ten of the best brains in the business and shortlisted two that he wanted more information about before he met any of them. As he reflected
on the given details of these two senior officers, one stood out appearing to be of the mettle that could make pigs fly.

  'I want Kabir Singh for this investigation,' Mr Gill told the parliamentarian he was directly reporting to on the case.

  'Kabir is granted. Do you need anything else?' The parliamentarian agreed without any persuasion.

  'Not at the moment,' Mr Gill replied.

  'Okay. I wish you all the very best,' said the voice, concluding the conversation.

  ***

  Kabir thrived on challenges; the bigger and riskier, the better. When he got the news through his superior that he was being transferred, overnight, to the CBI — the most prestigious intelligence agency in the country — to work on a specific top-secret case, he couldn't wait to get his briefing. He was up early and went for his morning run before getting ready to meet Mr Gill at the latter's small office in the annexe of Parliament House.

  'Good morning, sir,' Kabir said politely, knocking lightly on the older man's door.

  'Good morning, Kabir. Come in and take a seat.'

  Kabir walked up and shook hands with Mr Gill before he pulled a chair to sit down. Unlike the other government offices that had a large customary picture of Gandhi adorning the wall, his office had an original black and white framed picture of Mr Gill sitting with the Mahatma on the desk. It was the only personal asset Mr Gill had brought to the room with him when he took up this top job. The room had the bare essentials and could be summed up like Mr Gill's personality in one word. Simple. He did not even have a computer on his desk.

  'How are you this morning, Kabir?' he asked seeing Kabir settled in his chair.

  'I am fine, sir. Thanks.'

  'Congratulations on your promotion.'

  Kabir was surprised. His superior had positioned his move more as a parallel transfer than a promotion. 'I didn't know it was a promotion.'