The weeks after meeting Arjun felt different. I had a real ally now—someone who could handle
the legal side while I focused on the bigger picture. But having a lawyer didn't make the rest of
my life any easier. If anything, juggling everything was getting more complicated.
Morning runs had become routine. The winter air bit at my lungs, but my body was finally
responding. I'd dropped nearly fifteen kilos since starting this fitness kick seriously. Kane
noticed, obviously. "Damn, Jake, you're starting to look like an actual human being instead of a
walking samosa," he joked as we stretched after football practice.
"Fuck off," I grinned back. "At least I don't look like a scarecrow that someone forgot to stuff
properly."
Coach Krishnan had stopped yelling at me to keep up. Now he just nodded when I finished drills,
which felt like winning an Olympic medal. The bullies still tried their shit, but there was less
conviction behind it. Hard to call someone fatty when they're clearly not fat anymore.
School was its usual mix of boredom and social navigation. Angelica had been my anchor
through all of this—the one part of my life that felt genuinely normal. We'd started studying
together more often, her neat handwriting helping me catch up on subjects I'd been neglecting.
"You've been different lately," she said one afternoon as we sat in the library, supposedly
working on history homework. "More... focused. Less like you're daydreaming all the time."
"Maybe I'm finally growing up," I replied, not looking up from my notebook where I was actually
calculating bitcoin prices and exchange rates.
"Growing up is overrated," she laughed. "Adults are all stressed and angry. Look at my dad—he
comes home every day complaining about politicians and corruption. Says the whole system is
rotten."
That caught my attention. "What kind of work does your dad do?"
"Government contracts. Construction stuff. He says half the politicians in the state have their
hands in every project, taking cuts, demanding bribes." She lowered her voice. "He's always
worried about raids and investigations. Says things are getting worse."
Perfect. Her father's world was exactly the kind of environment where information flowed—and
where people were nervous about the future.
After school, I had my second official meeting with Arjun. His office looked the same, but our
dynamic had shifted. He treated me less like a curious kid and more like a client with actual
business.
"I've been doing some research on economic policy patterns," he said, pulling out a folder.
"Currency reforms, anti-corruption measures, digitization drives. You're right that governments
sometimes need shock therapy to force change."
"And?" I prompted.
"And if someone really wanted to hurt black money circulation, demonetization would be the
nuclear option. Recall high-value notes, force people to exchange them through banks with
proper documentation. It would be chaos, but effective."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "Hypothetically, if such a thing were to happen, what
would people need?"
"Legal ways to convert undocumented cash into legitimate assets. Offshore accounts set up in
advance. Documentation that proves legitimate sources of income." He leaned forward. "Jake, if
you really think something like this is coming, we need to start building infrastructure now. And
we need clients who would pay serious money for such services."
This was the moment I'd been building toward. "I might know someone who would be interested.
But he's... high profile. Politically connected. The kind of person who doesn't usually deal with
kids."
"How high profile?"
"State-level. Former central minister. The kind of guy who has ED breathing down his neck even
on good days."
Arjun's eyes widened. "Jesus, Jake. You're talking about playing with real fire here. Those kinds
of people don't just have money—they have power. And enemies. If we fuck up..."
"We won't fuck up. But I need to know you're committed before I make any moves. Because
once we're in, there's no backing out."
He was quiet for a long minute, staring at the ceiling. Finally: "What do you need from me?"
"Research everything you can about offshore banking, Swiss accounts, cryptocurrency
conversion. Set up shell companies, prepare documentation templates. And most importantly—
figure out how to make contact with someone who won't take meetings with random lawyers."
"Who are we talking about exactly?"
I took a breath. This was where it got real. "Sharad Patel."
Arjun nearly choked on his coffee. "Sharad fucking Pawar? The Sharad Patel? Jake, that man
has been in politics since before your parents were born. He's been Chief Minister of
Maharashtra four times, Defence Minister, Agriculture Minister. He's built his own political party
from scratch after leaving Congress. The guy is basically untouchable—even his enemies
respect him."
"Exactly why he's perfect. He's smart enough to see what's coming and powerful enough to
make it worth our while."
"He's also dangerous enough to have us both disappear if he thinks we're a threat."
"That's why we do this right. Professional, legitimate, beneficial to everyone involved." I leaned
across the desk. "Arjun, the man lost the 2014 elections. His party took a beating. But he's not
done—guys like him never quit. Right now, he's probably planning his comeback, which means
he needs his resources intact."
"And you think he'll trust a teenager and a small-time lawyer?"
"I think he'll trust results. We prove we can deliver, we prove we know what we're talking about,
and we prove we can keep our mouths shut. Money talks, and we're about to speak his
language."
Arjun rubbed his temples. "This is insane. But... fuck it. If we pull this off, we're set for life. If we
don't..." He shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"
I didn't answer that question. We both knew the worst that could happen.
The rest of that week was spent researching everything about Sharad Patel's network. His
daughter was currently mayor—not of a major faction, but enough to provide some protection.
His business interests, his political allies, his legal troubles. The Enforcement Directorate had
been sniffing around his finances for years, but nothing stuck. The guy was too smart, too
connected, too careful.
But even careful people get caught in tsunamis.
At home, life continued its normal rhythm. Mom fussed over my improved fitness, Dad praised
my better grades, Jason pestered me for money to buy cricket cards. Normal family bullshit that
felt both comforting and surreal given what I was planning.
"Jake's been acting strange," I overheard Mom telling Dad one evening. "Secretive. Always on
his phone or at the library."
"He's fifteen," Dad replied. "Strange is normal at his age. At least his grades are good and he's
staying out of trouble."
If only they knew.
That night, I lay in bed calculating numbers. 2,090 bitcoin at current prices was already a
fortune, but nothing compared to what it would be worth in a few years. Four million rupees in
betting winnings was more than most families saw in a lifetime. But to play in Sharad Patel
league, I needed to think bigger.
The plan was taking shape. Contact Sharad through intermediaries. Prove my value with smaller
predictions. Build trust gradually. Then, when demonetization hit in November 2016, be the guy
who saved his ass while everyone else scrambled.
It was ambitious. It was dangerous. It was probably stupid.
But it was also the only shot I had at changing everything