Lethal Secrets

by Anju Gattani

  “Sheetal!”

  She swallowed and semi-sweet mocha glided down her throat.

  “Are you fucking listening to....”

  She helped Yash to his feet and glimpsed the stub of the cigar at the end of its life.

  “That’s it? Walk off? Are you....”

  Sheetal left Rakesh with another bout of advertisements blaring in the background and the way he deserved to be left—alone.

  ***

  The entire Dhanraj mansion had been thoroughly cleaned and draped with strings of colorful lights and tinsel for Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights.

  Sheetal, Rakesh, and Yash dressed in their finest to join the family for prayers, but before they left the bedroom, Rakesh ducked into his closet, pulled out a shiny blue package, and gave it to Yash.

  “A surprise? For me?” Yash’s eyes twinkled.

  “That’s right. For you.” Rakesh sat on the carpeted floor beside Yash, tucked the cream-colored, knee-length kurta trimmed with brown and gold embroidery under the seat of his baggy silk trousers, and crossed his legs. Sheetal had never seen Rakesh sit on the floor and give anyone so much of his time and attention, which could only mean that the gift was something special.

  “Is it my Diwali gift?” Yash peeled away the shiny blue wrapper.

  “It’s more than that.”

  Yash lifted the box’s lid and unraveled the neatly folded clothes. “It’s a kurta pajama.” He frowned.

  “Like the one I’m wearing. I had one made for you so we can look the same.”

  Yash dropped the kurta.

  “Wear it. Everyone will know we’re father and son.”

  Sheetal turned to Yash. “You’ll look just like your Dad. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted for so long?”

  “I don’t want to look like him,” Yash said.

  Sheetal took a step and pressed Yash’s shoulder. “Why did you say that?”

  “Because all he does is drink that stuff and stink of smoke. If I’m like him, I’ll have to do the same.”

  “That’s not how it— It’s not all your Dad does.” In the corner of her eye, she saw Rakesh’s expression fall. She had to act quickly before Rakesh lost his temper.

  Yash leaned toward Rakesh, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “He smells. See! You can smell him. My teacher says smoking is bad.”

  Rakesh’s expression tightened and he looked away.

  “Yash, I understand. There are some not-so-good things in life. How about if your Dad promises not to drink and smoke again?”

  “I heard you both talk last night. All he ever does is shout at you. I don’t want to shout at you.” Yash stood and stomped toward the door, walking across the clothes on his way out, and then slammed the door behind.

  Rakesh rose to his feet. “Who asked you to bring him in the TV lounge last night? I was sitting by myself, minding my own business, but you had to ruin it. See what you did? And now you make promises on my behalf?”

  “He didn’t mean it that way,” Sheetal protested. “He’s only eight. He probably just—”

  “Knows what he wants. It’s not me. It’s all because of you.”

  ***

  That evening, Sheetal convinced Yash to wear Rakesh’s gift for the Diwali Lakshmi puja. The family congregated in the temple at 6:30 p.m. and she stood between Rakesh and Yash as Mummyji conducted the prayers.

  Both Rakesh and Yash pressed palms together in prayer, postures erect, heels touching and shoes fanned slightly apart at the toes. Even the way their heads bowed ever so slightly in prayer to show reverence but not submission was identical. Rakesh’s once titanium-and-steel complexion, tarnished over time, contrasted with Yash’s milky-white skin that glowed with pink highlights around the ears, cheeks, and lips. Rakesh’s left temple pulsed in sporadic intervals, creases formed along the contours of his face, and his nostrils flared intermittently while Yash barely flinched.

  Carved from ice, Rakesh reflected death.

  Carved from blood, Yash reflected life.

  Unable to sleep despite fatigue from the day’s celebrations, Sheetal rolled over in bed to face Rakesh. A moonbeam spilling in through the window combined with the yellow light cast by her bedside lamp illuminated the green veins that branched across his bare skin. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks whistled through the night sky.

  She returned to her other side and stared at pink, green, and orange splotches of light cast on the wall by the jewelry box. She shifted attention and ran a thumb along the box’s edge, then dangled a finger inside the cavity and watched her finger flood with colors. Rakesh hadn’t commented upon the box. Perhaps he didn’t notice it, like most things he didn’t care to see. But now that Yash had spoken the truth, maybe Rakesh would change for the better.

  Something rough touched Sheetal’s arm and she edged toward the lamp.

  Rakesh caught her wrist and yanked her to him, but she peeled off his fingers. He grabbed her thigh and gripped so hard, his chapped, rough fingers sent pain searing up her leg. She dug her toes into the mattress and pushed away. However, he yanked her back with force. She kicked, but he locked her legs. She opened her mouth to gasp, but he clamped his lips over hers and his breath filled her with the stench of stale alcohol and cigar fumes.

  She flattened a palm against his chest and shoved. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You turned Yash against me,” he hissed. “You brought him in the lounge on purpose so he’d hate me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You want Yash all to yourself. Admit it.”

  She struggled against his grip, but he held tight.

  “You’re so fucking overprotective, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out like you—the biggest coward on Earth.”

  Bile raced up her throat. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I wanted to talk to you about Dr. Kishore, but you’re so obsessed with yourself—”

  “Fuck Dr. Kishore! You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” His acrid breath washed over her face.

  “Rakesh, let go.”

  “Why? Don’t you want me now?”

  “That was before...before—”

  He stamped her with saliva-coated kisses reeking of vomit, then pummeled her inside until he was done. Finally, like the discarded shreds of shiny, blue wrapping paper, he left her bruised and in pain, turned his back to her, and fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kaleidoscope

  With Diwali past, Sheetal sought relief in the series of Himalayan Mountain range paintings due on December fifteenth. With one completed painting in the series of ten, she resolved not to compromise her work and earnings for anyone. With the fifty-thousand-rupees advance in her bank account, she was not going to lose out on the remaining ninety percent balance.

  On the way to her studio, she visualized the positions of lake and mountains, and the angle at which sunlight broke through the clouds and lit the slopes. As she neared the stairs, Mummyji’s voice and Yash’s giggles caught her attention. She peered over the balcony railing to the ground floor.

  Mummyji and Yash sat on the Fulton White sofas and Mummyji squeezed fingernail-sized discs of colorful Gems into Yash’s palm. Since Yash’s return, Mummyji had pampered Yash with Cadbury chocolates and trips to the toy store, but Sheetal knew that Mummyji’s bartering of chocolates for private information about her and Rakesh meant she was up to no good.

  In the past, Sheetal had coaxed Yash to withhold details, but with a stockpile of chocolates, and boxes hidden inside the bags that rested above the pewter elephants’ heads, these grandmotherly sessions would lead to more than tooth decay.

  Sheetal rushed downstairs and feigned surprise upon seeing the Gems overflowing Yash’s palm. “Oh my. All that candy will upset Yash’s tummy.”

  “Now, now, I tell you,”—Mummyji looked up and scrunched her nose—“no need to get fussy over a few small treats. Not like he’ll eat them all at once. All you young mothers nowadays, hai Ishwar! Always complainin
g. Too much sugar, too much fat, too much—”

  Yash tilted his palm a little too far and Gems scattered across the floor.

  “He can barely manage what you’ve given him. Too much of anything is bad for him.” Sheetal refrained from picking up the fallen Gems and leading Yash away. To do so would trigger a chain reaction. Mummyji would rant about the incident for weeks, her gossip would reach the households of her friends, and everyone would blame Sheetal for instigating an argument and attempting to assert authority over an elderly widow. As long as Mummyji reigned supreme, Sheetal would always be the outsider and a shoulder to carry blame.

  “Yash, why don’t you come with me? I could use some help with my painting.”

  Just then, Sheetal’s cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her sari pouch, accepted the call, and turned her back to Mummyji. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.” Rakesh.

  Was he calling to apologize for what he did four nights ago? “What’s wrong, now?”

  “I was just thinking it would be good for you and Yash to come down to the office today and I could show you both around.”

  “No.”

  “I want to spend some quality time with Yash, here.”

  “I can send Yash over.” That would prove she wasn’t overprotective.

  “No.” He paused. “You, too.”

  Was this a sudden bout of care and affection? She looked over her shoulder. Mummyji watched her intently.

  “I thought time together would do us some good.”

  “I don’t need to be there,” she firmed her tone and stepped away, wanting to escape Mummyji’s range of hearing.

  “As a family, Sheetal. For Yash.”

  A sudden concern about being a family? Where was this coming from? She pivoted and watched Mummyji pop a Gem into Yash’s mouth.

  “Hello? You there?”

  “Yes. ” She sighed. Always here and always falling behind on work because of everyone else.

  Mummyji removed a toy construction set from one of the bags and held it out of Yash’s reach. Yash jumped to his feet and grabbed the box from Mummyji.

  “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Sheetal and Yash had waited on leather corner sofas in Rakesh’s office for over twenty minutes, but from the pile of papers stacked on his desk, Rakesh didn’t look as if he’d be free anytime soon. Yash played on his electronic handheld PlayStation Portable while Sheetal flipped through a business magazine. She yawned and breathed in the thick scent of stationery and men’s cologne.

  Rakesh looked up from a document. “A few more minutes. I’m almost done.”

  The wait would extend beyond a few minutes. Based upon her experiences in waiting for Rakesh when she met him at the office for dinner in the city or shopping after work, she predicted at least an hour longer.

  A knock sounded.

  “Come in,” Rakesh said.

  The door opened and in walked Vipul Swampat, CFO of Dhanraj & Son and one of the company’s oldest employees. Vipul Sahib had worked for Rakesh’s father for twelve years, then became Rakesh’s right-hand man shortly after Rakesh took over as CEO. With a career spanning twenty-two years, Vipul Sahib had witnessed the company’s boom years as one of India’s industrial giants under Rakesh’s reign. He had also witnessed the company’s decline into debt.

  Rakesh rose, crossed the room, and greeted the elderly gentleman with a handshake. “Ah, Uncle, I haven’t seen you all morning.” In addition to recognition as the most trusted employee, Rakesh also treated Vipul Sahib with the respect reserved for older members of a family.

  “I’ve been busy with that proposal. I hope this partnership works out.” Vipul Sahib glanced right and opened his arms wide as a huge smile lit his face. “Well, well!” He crossed the office as his gray eyebrows arched. “Look who’s here! Yash, my boy. How are you?” He hugged Yash.

  “Good, Dada.” Out of respect, Yash referred to Vipul Sahib as “grandfather.”

  “And Sheetal, Beti. How are you?”

  “Fine, Uncle,” Sheetal replied.

  “Good, good.” Vipul Sahib ran his hands down Yash’s shoulders. “With this young man here, I’m sure both of you must be fine. It’s amazing how children can change your life—eh? They bring out the best in people. Now, I’ll have to catch up with you later, young man.” He headed to Rakesh’s desk. “We need to schedule additional meetings and talks with the Japanese. What do you think?”

  Sheetal turned a page of her magazine. A black bottle of Givenchy’s men’s cologne centered an advertisement.

  “I’m thinking partnership. A joint venture,” Rakesh said. “We form a third company with them. They give us cash, the brand, and the technology of all their gizmos like washing machines, microwave ovens, refrigerators, stereos. The whole lot. We throw in a few factories, start local manufacture, handle marketing and distribution, and sell their toys. The whole network.”

  “Toys,” according to Rakesh, meant home appliances.

  “We know the Indian market. They don’t.”

  Tashukomo Electronics wanted an elephant’s share of the prospering Indian economy. However, according to India’s government policy, the only way a foreign brand could enter the Indian market was through a local partner.

  “Tashukomo Electronics agreed to chip in fifty percent.” Rakesh handed Vipul Sahib several documents.

  “Yes...and two, perhaps three years down the line, they get to buy us out at a fifty percent premium. That should give them enough incentive to sign the contract and give us the cash we desperately need.”

  “Check out page six,” Rakesh said.

  Vipul Sahib ruffled sheets of paper.

  “We’ll add a clause that if their products fail, we buy them out at half the value of their stake.”

  “That’s useless.” Vipul shook his head. “Their products will never fail.”

  “What if we make them fail? It’s a question of timing. We keep them buoyant for the initial two years and when their products fail—which we make sure from the get-go—we let go. Meanwhile, we build ties with Borgon. Those multi-national German giants are just waiting to enter the market.”

  “And what about the Japanese?”

  “Use their cash. Improve our balance sheet. Repay the bank. Later, they walk out with a loss.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  Sheetal’s throat tightened and she looked up.

  Rakesh glanced in her direction as if he’d forgotten she was in the room and sighed. “You’re only looking at short-term gain. I’m in for the long haul. Don’t you see? Once the Japanese fail, they lose their rep in the market and never sell here again. No one will partner with them in the future.”

  “It’s not right.” Vipul Sahib laid the papers on the table. “We’re setting a trap for them to walk into. They trust us, and we cheat to win?”

  “Whoever wins with the truth?” Rakesh loosened the navy-blue tie around his neck. “It’s our only way of bailing out of this debt alive. Our options are a chance to stand on our feet again with dignity or be screwed for life.”

  If anyone discovered what he was up to, he’d be in serious trouble. Sheetal refrained from saying so. Ten years ago, Mummyji had suggested Sheetal work with Rakesh in the company. However, Rakesh had threatened that if she tried, he would never step foot in the house again. Sheetal didn’t interfere with company matters and wasn’t about to start now.

  “I want to pin them down.”

  Bubbles of anxiety rippled up her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rakesh,” the words slipped out. Sheetal pressed her lips tight.

  “Really?” Rakesh turned to look at her. “And how does this involve you?”

  “You’re putting yourself and all of us at risk.”

  “I think I know how to run this company, thank you.” He returned his attention to Vipul Sahib.

  “Sheetal is right. There has to be another way.” Vipul Sahib ran his fingers through his gray hair. “We’ll ruin our re
putation forever. Twenty years ago, your father had visions of Dhanraj & Son becoming a household name and a publicly listed company.”

  “We are.” Rakesh paced the room, his forehead creasing with wrinkles. “But we are staying private. This way, we maintain control. We do what we want.”

  “I agree, and we have a responsibility to carry forward that reputation of strength, trust, reliability, and—”

  “Papa died,” Rakesh cut him short, “and his visions for the company are gone. I had never planned to use the company’s money for Naina’s wedding. But what choice did I have? You know it all, Uncle. You’ve been with me from the beginning.” He stopped pacing and stood behind his black leather chair. “If there’s one thing I do, it’s repay that three-hundred and fifty million. I’m a man of my word, and I will not shut down the company. I will recover that money however I have to, even if it means squeezing the Japs dry.”

  “You need to think this through.” Vipul took a seat. “Take a break, son. A vacation. Something. I....”

  Sheetal bit her lower lip and swallowed. From the way creases marked Vipul Sahib’s forehead and his shoulders sagged, Sheetal wasn’t sure the CFO would be able to change Rakesh’s mind and ensure Rakesh did the right thing.

  “There’s also something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Vipul Sahib said.

  “What?”

  “One of our employees, Girish Sharma, he’s been with us for five years. His younger sister, twenty-five or twenty-six, was in a car accident two weeks ago and has been in ICU since.”

  “Shit. How is she now?”

  “Not good, from what I hear. Everyone’s been talking about it. Girish came to me last week asking if we could lend him some money to tide over the medical expenses. They’re looking at surgery. Her husband’s company doesn’t provide medical insurance like we do.”

  “How has Girish’s performance been?”

  “Made quite a name for himself and always on top of things.”

  “What does the Distribution Department think of him?”

  “Their go-to person for any problems. Loyal as hell.”

  “How much is he asking for?”

  “Around three lakhs.”