Chapter 28
Desire Without Mercy
Morning arrived gently, yet Aziz Khan awoke to a chaotic world.
The sky outside the flat was pale gray, a shade that floated between day and night without leaning toward either. The city below moved deliberately, waking in parts—cars sliding onto wet streets, shop lights flicking on, and people starting another day from the outside, seeming normal.
But the air felt different inside the apartment.
Heavier.
Aziz Khan stood at the kitchen counter, grasping a cup of coffee that had gone cold long ago. His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, lost somewhere between remembrance and outcome.
The occurrences of the last evening had not gone away.
Not at all; they would never.
Still, he could hear the weak echoes of the gunfire in the back of his mind. Not powerful, not head-turning; just consistent. Like a reminder of some decisions you never forget.
Shelfa Ali observed him wordlessly across the room.
She had been awake for close to an hour and was now sitting at the dinner table, tablet open in front of her. The news had spread far sooner than expected.
It is also growing fast.
At last, she responded, Your name is everywhere.
Aziz did not look back.
That was unavoidable.
Shelfa looked at the screen one more time.
She said, "They're referring to it as a showdown." Some argue it was self-defense. Yet others are creating their own stories.
Aziz breathed gently.
The truth lags far behind speculation.
Shelfa held the tablet in his direction.
A headline stared back from the screen.
Business leader linked to Warehouse Shooting Inquiry.
Aziz read it and held his tongue. No one has filed complaints. None received approval. Only questions that are carefully worded to pique curiosity.
Shelfa said somebody disclosed details.
Certainly.
You expected this?
I had hoped for worse.
Shelfa folded her arms.
You come across as strangely cool.
Aziz at last confronted her.
I am not settled.
So what exactly are you then?
Available.
Between them, the term fits.
Shelfa watched him intently, leaning back a bit in her chair.
Prepared for what?
Aziz went over to the window and looked out at the city.
for the following move.
Shelfa frowned.
You see this as merely the beginning?
Aziz came to see it gradually.
That man in the warehouse was not working by himself.
Are you certain?
Yes, absolutely.
Shelfa was now standing and moving toward him.
The cops will check on it.
They'll learn their limits of visibility.
And what does that mean?
Aziz's tone descended.
"It implies someone higher up will try to shape the narrative."
Shelfa came to rest beside him.
You think that someone wanted that argument to happen.
Of course.
You walked straight into it, too.
Aziz made no argument against it.
The quiet that followed was full of understanding.
Shelfa turned to face him quietly.
We then need to be wary, she observed. Extra wary.
Aziz gave one nod.
Shelfa, though, had only seen something a few times in his eyes.
A dangerous sort of focus.
She muttered, You're considering who organized this.
"Yes."
Shelfa's visage tightened somewhat.
"That's not your fight anymore."
Aziz glanced at her.
"Isn't it?"
"No," she answered sternly. "You distanced yourself from that world."
That society never abandoned me.
Shelfa paused.
He was right here.
The past had a habit of coming back to bite you just when you thought you had buried it.
She whispered more softly, "Aziz, you practically died last night."
"And someone anticipated me, too."
Once again, the room went silent.
Shelfa returned to the table and grabbed the tablet.
Another notification showed up.
One other piece.
One other wave of hypotheses.
She swivelled the screen towards him once more.
She noted, "This isn't only about media coverage."
Aziz neared.
The subject of the essay was not the shooting itself.
It dealt with something else.
An examination of finances.
Many deals are connected to the guy who passed away in the warehouse.
Deep within the essay as well was a name Aziz had not encountered for years.
His face altered abruptly.
Shelfa saw.
"You know that name," she added.
Aziz was not immediately responsive.
He read the line again to be sure he hadn't misread it, rather than to change it.
No, he had not.
Someone from his past had the name.
Some person with power.
Someone who had once been an ally.
Shelfa whispered, "Aziz," then asked, Who is it?"
He placed the tablet gently.
"The only person I wanted to remain buried in the past."
Shelfa waited.
Aziz's voice was barely cool when at last he said something.
Victor Rahman.
Shelfa's eyes grew a little.
"You're actually serious?"
"Yes."
"But years ago, he vanished."
"That's what everyone thought."
Shelfa experienced shivers running down her spine.
Victor Rahman had once been among the most powerful financial world power brokers in the city.
Also among the most vicious.
She responded slowly, "If he's involved in this, then the warehouse wasn't only a trap."
"No," Aziz responded.
"It was a message."
Shelfa darted across the room.
And what message finally kills someone?
Aziz's face changed for the worse.
The sort that claims the game has restarted.
Shelfa shook her head.
"You can't come after him."
"Why not?"
"Men like Victor Rahman don't play fair."
Aziz gazed out the window once more.
The city had woken completely now.
Traffic boomed over the road. People dashed across pavements, not knowing that a storm was brewing under their feet.
Though subdued, he spoke with certainty.
"Nor do the men who tried to kill me yesterday night."
Shelfa gazed at him.
You are genuinely committed to this.
"Yes."
"What if you're wrong?"
Aziz turned back towards her.
"Then I'll get to know."
Shelfa moved closer and murmured.
"And supposing you're right?"
Aziz's countenance stayed the same.
"Then this city is about to remember why Victor Rahman disappeared in the first place."
The dawn sky at last opened into sunshine beyond the window.
Inside the room, however, something darker had started to come to life.
Since certain impulses—power, retaliation, control—never really disappear.
They just wait.
And they do it without pity when they come back.
Long after it had been said, the name stayed in the room.
Victor Rehman.
It was the sort of name most residents in the city had either forgotten or selected to forget—quiet, heavy history that carried with it.
Aziz Khan, meantime, had never forgotten.
Men like Victor Rahman did not disappear without cause.
They waited.
Though the morning sun had started to pour through the tall windows, the office seemed colder now. In the light, tiny golden lines of dust floated gently across the room.
Shelfa Ali observed Aziz intently across the table.
"You are extremely quiet," she remarked.
Aziz turned away from the tablet resting on the table.
I'm thinking back.
Shelfa crossed her arms.
That is hardly reassuring.
"Not so."
The article was left visible on the screen. Though it was brief, the ramifications were far-reaching. Financial transactions, offshore funds. Quiet alliances related to shell companies.
And hiding among the minutiae was Victor Rahman's previous network's obvious shadow.
Shelfa bent forward.
"I believed years ago his empire fell."
"It did," Aziz said.
"Then how is his name showing up in this?"
At last, Aziz looked up.
"Since empires hardly ever entirely fall apart."
Shelfa scowled.
You suppose he rebuilt everything?
"No," Aziz replied softly. "I suppose he never stopped guiding it."
The silence that followed revealed a hazardous insight.
Shelfa went to the window and glanced down at the bustling street far below. People moved like normal things on a regular day.
They were oblivious to how near they could be to something darker.
"If Victor Rahman is behind the warehouse attack," she said slowly, "then he wasn't just trying to scare you."
"No."
He was trying to find out what you were like.
Aziz nodded once.
"What are you testing?"
"Whether I would run."
Shelfa faced him.
And you did not.
Aziz had a quiet voice.
"Not ever."
Shelfa shook her head a bit.
"That's precisely what makes me concerned."
Aziz set aside the tablet and turned it off.
He said, "Fear is useful."
"Not when it pushes you into another war."
"This isn't a war yet."
Shelfa looked questioning.
"What is it then?"
Aziz stood and headed for the window beside her. They both gazed down at the city for a moment.
"Right now," he continued, "it's a message."
Shelfa turned to look at him.
And the message reads what?
"That Victor Rahman wants my attention."
She took a soft exhale.
She spoke dryly, "Well, he certainly got it."
Aziz stayed stern.
"Which means the next move counts."
Shelfa looked at his face once more.
"You're already thinking three steps ahead."
Men like him work that way.
Men like you, too.
Aziz neither refuted nor confirmed it.
Outside, the city kept its never-ending activity: cars driving, people crossing streets, stores opening.
Everything appeared normal.
Aziz, though, understood the fragility of ordinary life.
He had previously based whole plans on it.
Shelfa turned away from the window and strolled gently about the room.
She remarked, "You haven't told me anything."
Aziz turned to see her.
"What?"
"What transpired between you and Victor Rahman years ago?"
Aziz delayed responding.
Like something emerging from the depths of the ocean, the recollection emerged gently.
He eventually remarked, "It was not only business.
Shelfa quit moving.
"I thought that much."
Aziz massaged his hands in his hair.
"Victor Rahman thought anybody should get power by whatever means at their disposal."
"And you didn't."
"I thought power had to have structure."
Shelfa nodded deliberately.
"So you became enemies."
"At last."
"What transpired?"
Aziz peered down towards the table.
"There was a deal."
Shelfa waited.
"A quite big one," he went on. "It included a big redevelopment plan for the city with numerous foreign investors."
Shelfa squinted just a bit.
"The waterfront project."
Aziz gave a nod.
Victor Rahman had intended that from the start.
"But you took it."
"Not at all," Aziz whispered. "I stopped it."
Shelfa frowned.
"Why?"
"Because the money behind it wasn't clean."
Between them sat the weight of the past.
"And Victor Rahman lost everything because of that," Shelfa replied slowly.
Almost everything.
She grasped right away.
"He never forgave you."
Aziz offered a little, humorless grin.
"Men like him are not forgiving."
Shelfa approached still closer.
"And now he is back."
Yes, please.
"And he's beginning with you.
Aziz gave a nod.
Shelfa leaned against the table's edge, her tone softer now.
Do you believe he wants to retaliate?
Once more, Aziz peered out the window.
"No."
Shelfa blinked.
Not really.
"No," Aziz said twice.
"So, what does he want?"
Aziz responded immediately and naturally.
"Dominance."
Shelfa felt a little contraction in her belly.
"Control over what?"
Aziz faced her.
"Throughout the city."
The phrases had an almost theatrical flavor.
But his face suggested he intended them.
Shelfa stroked her forehead with her hand.
"You think Victor Rahman is trying to rebuild his empire."
"I believe he already does.
"And the warehouse attack?"
"An alarm."
Shelfa fixed her gaze on him.
"Or an invitation."
Slowly, she shook her head.
That's outrageous.
Perhaps.
"You are still thinking about it, though."
Azid did not answer.
Shelfa knew silence well.
He had decided something already meant it.
She murmured, "You're going to search for him."
Aziz looked at her.
"Yes."
Shelfa let out a quiet sigh.
"You come to see that if Victor Rahman really is responsible for this..."
Aziz waited.
Walking towards him then would be the worst choice you could make.
Aziz's countenance stayed unaltered.
"Danger hardly vanishes when you turn away from it."
Shelfa examined him intently for a long time.
"You're honest."
"Yes."
The sun crept higher in the heavens outside the window, brilliant and unforgiving.
Shelfa folded her arms.
"Then we proceed with great caution."
Aziz cocked his head a little.
"We?"
She smiled a little but resolutely at him.
"You didn't think I was letting you face Victor Rahman alone, did you?"
For the first time since the discussion started, Aziz's face softened a little.
"Not really," he responded.
"I didn't."
If Victor Rahman really had come back—
Then the storm brewing above the city was just starting.
The city fell peacefully into the night.
The skyline stretched infinitely into darkness from the top floor of the apartment building, with towers shining with random lights and traffic running like agitated veins of red and white throughout the streets.
The ambiance within the room varied.
Yet still.
Tense.
Expected.
Aziz Khan stood close to the window, his hands resting lightly on the chilly glass. At night, the city had never failed to enthrall him. It appeared organized, predictable, and under control in sunlight.
The truth surfaced at night.
Ambition traveled in shadows.
Deals were murmured behind closed doors.
And power showed the type of hunger daylight wanted to forget.
Shelfa Ali shut the computer she had been working on for the past hour behind him.
She murmured, "I found something."
Aziz did not flip off instantly.
What sort of something?"
"The sort that makes me wish I hadn't glanced."
That caused him to rotate.
Shelfa pushed a printed paper across the table in his direction. Many pages include shipping manifests and transaction records.
Aziz crossed over deliberately and started reading.
The specifics appeared mundane at first: warehouse deliveries, corporate transfers, transportation movements. But as his eyes slid down the page, the design started to show.
The shipments were not random.
They took a path.
A really precise path.
Aziz's face turned hard.
"These are supply shifts."
Shelfa agreed.
"Yes."
For what?"
She stopped for thought.
"Therein lies the difficulty."
Aziz glanced up.
"They aren't officially recorded under any law."
He turned to the last page.
He stopped at the destination address.
An area of warehouses close to the harbor.
The same area where the fight had occurred the previous evening.
Aziz's voice dropped.
"He is developing."
Shelfa crossed her arms.
One approach to characterize it is this one.
"What's the alternative?"
Shelfa gazed straight at him.
"He's getting something ready."
The room went silent.
Aziz examined the documents again, this time more leisurely.
The shipments were not small in magnitude.
This wasn't just one thing that happened.
It was structured.
"Victor Rahman is not quietly rebuilding," he remarked.
Shelfa nodded sternly.
"He's rebuilding fast."
The awareness was between them like a weight.
At last, Aziz set the documents down.
"Where did you find this data?"
Shelfa shrugged a little.
"I still know those who owe me favors."
Aziz nearly grinned.
"Remind me never to undervalue your network."
"You already had that lesson once."
Aziz went back to the window.
Outside, the harbor lights flickered faintly in the distance.
"Three warehouses," he remarked reflectively. "Supply lines through two distinct shipping firms. Offshore account payments are channeled.
Shelfa came closer.
You're already charting it.
"Yes."
"You're not really shocked."
Aziz's head shook.
"Victor Rahman never makes it halfway back.
Shelfa looked at his face.
"Then what precisely do you believe he is working on?"
Aziz said slowly.
"Control."
Shelfa scowled.
"Over what?"
Aziz motioned toward the city beyond.
"Everything he lost."
Shelfa tracked his eyes.
Millions of individuals were living their lives, oblivious to the silent conflict possibly going on underneath them as the city extended out in a sea of lights.
You suspect he is trying to reclaim the city.
"I think he believes it still belongs to him."
Shelfa breathed out slowly.
"That's nuts."
Aziz had not disagreed.
"It is also precisely what he would do."
Shelfa turned toward him once more.
"Then we visit the authorities."
Aziz gave it thought.
Then waggled his head.
Not now.
Shelfa blinked.
Why not?
"Since suspicion is not proof."
You recently said he's building something.
"Indeed."
"Is not that sufficient?"
"Maybe for us."
"Not for the folks who would have to stop him, though."
Shelfa approached, her tone turning angry.
"So what exactly is the plan, Aziz?"
Aziz hesitated before responding.
He picked up the document again and stared at the ending address rather than something else.
Among the other warehouses, one stood out.
The deliveries there were bulkier.
More regular.
More cautious.
Shelfa caught his attention.
Quietly, she remarked, "That one."
"Yes."
You believe that is the center.
"I know it is."
Shelfa crossed her arms.
"And you're considering visiting there."
Aziz saw her eyes.
"Yes."
Shelfa chuckled softly and skeptically.
"Certainly you are."
"Knowing what he's up to comes fastest from this."
"The fastest way to get yourself killed is also the way it goes."
Aziz kept a cool face.
"Maybe."
Shelfa gave him a gaze.
"You mean business."
"Yes"
She ran a hand through her hair as she headed toward the window.
"You know Victor Rahman wants you to look around."
"Yes."
"Which means he might be waiting."
"Yes."
Shelfa turned back toward him.
"And you're still going?"
Aziz nodded once.
"Tomorrow night."
Shelfa paid close attention to him.
She seemed about to disagree for a brief while.
She sighed next.
"I guess nothing else would persuade you."
Aziz gave a little smile.
"You have known me long enough to know the answer to that question."
Shelfa moved nearer once more, her voice now softer.
"Then I am accompanying you."
Aziz shook his head right away.
"No."
"Too risky?"
"Yes."
Shelfa tilted her head just a little.
You truly believe I would let you go into that by yourself?
Aziz maintained her gaze.
I was hoping.
Shelfa chuckled, little, tenacious, and immovable.
"Hope is not a plan."
Aziz couldn't stop the small chuckle that slipped from him.
"Understood."
The wind picked up a little outside and brushed against the glass.
The city lights glistened under the black sky.
For a brief period, neither of them uttered anything.
At last, the Shelfa shattered the silence.
She stated, "If Victor Rahman really is planning something, then tomorrow night could change everything." Slowly, Ly Aziz nodded.
"Yes."
"What if we're mistaken?"
Aziz turned his gaze to the harbor lights far off.
"After that, we leave."
Shelfa followed his eyes.
"And supposing we are correct?"
Aziz spoke gently but forcefully.
"Then the man who vanished years ago is about to remind this city why people feared him in the first place."
Outside, the wind moaned gently across the streets.
And somewhere beyond the harbor—
in a warehouse tucked amid shadows—
Victor Rahman's project was already in progress.
Not able to be stopped.
Relentless.
And waiting...