By evening, the house had adjusted to suspicion.
It did not announce itself. It settled instead, quietly, the way dust did when no one was watching. It collected in corners, hovered in doorways, stretched itself into the pauses between questions. Everyone felt it. No one said it aloud. Silence was no longer neutral here. It leaned.
Four people remained under the same roof. Four people aware that the same walls were now listening differently.
Aarav suggested speaking to them individually. Not interrogations. Conversations. Deshpande agreed, though his patience was thinning. Procedure liked structure. Aarav trusted fractures more.
Neha Mehra was first.
They sat in the living room. The curtains were drawn halfway, keeping the outside world at a manageable distance. Neha sat straight-backed on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, the same posture she had held since morning. It wasn't stiffness. It was control. A way of keeping herself from spilling.
"You lived with him a long time," Aarav said.
"Long enough," Neha replied.
"People don't become difficult overnight."
"No," she said. "They become unbearable slowly."
Aarav did not interrupt. Silence did more work than questions ever could.
"He liked leverage," Neha continued after a moment. "Knowing things before others did. Holding information just long enough to matter."
"Did he use that on you?" Aarav asked.
She looked at him then, really looked. "Marriage does that on its own."
"Did you want to leave him?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
"Why didn't you?"
Neha looked down at her hands. "Because leaving Raghav Mehra meant losing more than a husband."
"What would you have lost?"
"Stability. Reputation. A version of myself people were comfortable believing in."
Aarav nodded. That answer carried years in it.
"Where were you between eleven and twelve last night?" he asked.
"In my bedroom. Reading."
"Did you hear anything?"
"No."
"Did you go upstairs?"
"No."
Her answers were precise. Too precise, perhaps. But grief did that to memory. It cleaned edges. Smoothed things that were once rough.
Aarav thanked her and stood.
Kunal Mehra refused to sit.
He stayed near the dining table, fingers tapping against the polished wood, a rhythm that never quite settled. Anger sat close to the surface, visible, impatient.
"You and your brother," Aarav said. "That relationship wasn't simple."
Kunal let out a short laugh. "That's generous."
"He was pushing you out."
"Yes."
"And you found out recently."
"Yes."
"Did he threaten you?"
"He never needed to," Kunal said. "Raghav believed threats worked better when they were implied."
"What did that look like?" Aarav asked.
"Documents I wasn't shown. Meetings I wasn't invited to. Decisions already signed."
"Did you confront him?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Yesterday evening."
"What happened?"
Kunal's jaw tightened. "He smiled. Told me I was being dramatic."
Aarav filed that away.
"Did you go to the study after dinner?"
"No."
"You didn't argue again?"
"No."
"Anyone see you leave?"
"The staff. Around nine."
Kunal wanted Raghav out of his life. That much was obvious. Whether he wanted him dead was a different thing entirely.
Sanjay Rao changed the temperature of the room the moment he entered it.
He filled space with motion, pacing, gesturing, speaking before questions landed.
"This is insane," Sanjay said. "I leave town for one night and everything collapses."
"You argued with him publicly," Aarav said.
"Business," Sanjay replied. "Raghav pushed limits. That's how he operated."
"You lost money."
"Yes."
"And trust."
Sanjay scoffed. "Trust was never on the table."
"Where were you last night?"
"At a hotel in Pune. I showed the receipts."
"You returned early."
"As soon as I heard."
Aarav let him talk. Sanjay rushed to explain, eager to fill every gap. It wasn't proof of guilt. It was proof of panic.
Maya Iyer was last.
Aarav chose the study doorway, not the room itself. The threshold mattered. Maya stood with her hands loosely clasped, posture relaxed, alert.
"You worked closely with Raghav," Aarav said.
"Yes."
"Closer than anyone else."
"That was my job."
"You handled sensitive material."
"Yes."
"Did he trust you?"
A pause. Barely noticeable. "He trusted my usefulness."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"Did he pressure you?"
"Yes."
"In what way?"
"Deadlines. Expectations."
"That's not pressure," Aarav said quietly.
Maya met his gaze. "For some people, it is."
"Where were you last night?"
"At home."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"No one can confirm that."
"No."
"You came early this morning."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he asked me to."
Aarav nodded slowly. "Did he seem different yesterday?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Focused," she said. "Final."
Something shifted in Aarav at that word. He kept his face still.
When it was over, Aarav stepped back and took them in as a group. They did not stand together. They never naturally had. Each occupied a different part of the house, a different distance from the truth.
Deshpande joined him by the staircase.
"So?" he asked.
"So they all had reasons," Aarav said.
"That doesn't help."
"What helps," Aarav replied, "is how they live with those reasons."
Deshpande frowned. "Explain."
"Neha carries hers like a weight she's learned to balance. Kunal carries his like a weapon he hasn't decided to use. Sanjay carries his like noise. And Maya…"
"And Maya?" Deshpande pressed.
"She carries nothing," Aarav said. "At least, nothing visible."
Deshpande crossed his arms. "Calm isn't guilt."
"No," Aarav said. "But it is discipline."
Officers moved through the house, photographing, cataloging, sealing. The investigation was beginning to take shape now. Timelines forming. Narratives waiting to be chosen.
Aarav didn't like the direction it wanted to go.
He returned to the study alone. He stood where the body had been, imagining the room before it turned into evidence. Raghav at his desk. The clock ticking. The door closed.
Someone here had known exactly how to turn order into a tool.
Aarav opened his notebook and wrote four names.
He did not circle any of them.
Not yet.