After returning to Spanda Police Station, SHO Yash Agarwal distributed the cash to the officers, framing it as a precinct-wide welfare bonus.
Although everyone was curious about the source of the sudden windfall, the SHO didn't offer any explanations, and no one dared to ask. Why bother asking dangerous questions when free money was sitting right in front of them?
At the same time, Agarwal officially announced that Rohan would be taking the open promotion slot for Head Constable.
The precinct was stunned by the decision. Rohan was just a rookie with shallow qualifications. Several veteran constables had been eyeing that spot and had even privately slipped Agarwal bribes of up to ten thousand rupees over the past month to secure it. But compared to the massive political capital and wealth Rohan had just delivered to the SHO, their petty bribes were nothing.
However, despite the shock, there was no open outrage. Everyone had just received a cash bonus equivalent to two months' salary, and they all knew it was directly tied to Rohan's mysterious operation. They had eaten the fruit, so they couldn't chop down the tree. The few veterans who had been passed over could only swallow their bitterness.
In the Indian police force, the promotion of a grassroots constable was almost entirely dictated by the local Station House Officer. Once Agarwal submitted the paperwork, it was a rubber stamp. The official order would come down in a few days, and Rohan's new rank was guaranteed. The real tragedy was simply that the government allocated so few promotion quotas to the grassroots level; there were always too many starving dogs and not enough meat.
Agarwal called Rohan into his private office and locked the door.
"Sir, this is.....?" Rohan asked, watching as Agarwal pulled twenty crisp thousand-rupee notes from his desk drawer and pushed them across the table.
"Take it," Agarwal said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "You performed exceptionally well tonight, Rohan. Keep up the good work."
There was no reason to hesitate. Although he had just received his three-thousand-rupee cut outside, twenty thousand rupees was a massive sum. Rohan understood this was Agarwal's way of securing his absolute loyalty, and he pocketed the cash smoothly.
Agarwal had been incredibly generous with the precinct, but he was no saint. Between the three hundred thousand rupees from the Minister's secretary and the loose assets confiscated from the Kala Sher warehouse before it was sealed, Agarwal had walked away with well over a hundred thousand rupees for himself. Since the gang was exterminated, their assets were completely off the books.
Agarwal knew Rohan was the sole reason this had happened. If the kid hadn't pinpointed the thieves so quickly, Agarwal never would have recovered the safe in time. Having perfectly resolved a crisis for the State Finance Minister, Agarwal was in a fantastic mood, hence the twenty-thousand-rupee reward.
When Rohan stepped out of the SHO's office, he was immediately surrounded by congratulatory slaps on the back.
Previously, Rohan had been a ghost in the precinct. Aside from his English translation skills, he had no real presence. Now, the dynamic had violently shifted. Anyone with half a brain could see that Rohan had gone from being a useful translator to the SHO's trusted confidant. Adding in the fact that everyone's pockets were suddenly full because of him, the other constables were eager to build a good relationship with the rising star.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the precinct, Deputy Inspector Gurmeet Singh sat in his office, staring blankly at the thirty thousand rupees resting on his desk.
He had just received word that the Kala Sher gang was entirely wiped out.
The Kala Sher gang wasn't just a group of random thugs; they were Singh's primary informants and enforcers in Dharavi. They fed him street intelligence and paid him a heavy monthly tribute. He never expected Agarwal to utterly annihilate them in a single, unannounced raid.
A cold sense of dread washed over him. What did this mean? Was Agarwal finally making his move? Was this a direct warning to him?
Singh had interrogated the officers who returned from the raid, but they knew nothing. Agarwal had kept them completely in the dark, claiming they were just recovering a stolen safe for a wealthy victim.
A victim who casually handed out hundreds of thousands of rupees as a thank-you gift. Singh cursed the Kala Sher boss in his head. Whoever this victim was, they possessed terrifying financial and political power. Why did those slum rats have to provoke someone so far out of their league?
The loss of his gang was painful, but Singh was far more terrified that Agarwal was preparing to purge him next.
Agarwal held the top seat, giving him a massive structural advantage. Yet, Agarwal had still sent him a thirty-thousand-rupee cut from the night's raid. It was a contradictory message.
Singh realized he couldn't just sit and wait for the axe to fall. Agarwal had just bought the loyalty of the entire station with this "welfare" distribution. If Singh didn't secure his own position immediately, he would be marginalized completely.
Grabbing the stack of cash off his desk, Singh stormed out of the station. It was time to visit his political backers in the city.
Out in the hallways, Old Bharat pulled Rohan into a quiet corner. "Kid, I really owe you for tonight," the veteran cop said, his voice thick with gratitude. "This three thousand rupees... it came at the exact right time."
"Is everything alright at home?" Rohan asked, noticing the heavy bags under the older man's eyes.
"It's the same old problem," Bharat sighed, rubbing his face.
Rohan understood immediately. Bharat's wife suffered from a chronic illness, and her medical expenses were bleeding him dry.
Politicians loved to boast that government healthcare in India was free, but the reality on the ground was a cruel joke. Medical resources were severely underfunded and the so-called "free" government pharmacies were always out of stock. If you went to the counter, you were simply told to go home and wait.... a wait that could stretch into eternity for a dying patient. To actually get medicine, you had to aggressively bribe the hospital staff or buy it from private pharmacies at heavily marked-up prices that a grassroots cop could barely afford.
"If you need more, I can lend you some," Rohan offered genuinely.
"No, no, this is enough to last us a while," Bharat insisted, shaking his head.
Despite the refusal, Rohan quietly slipped two thousand rupees from his newly acquired bonus and pressed it into Bharat's palm. The old veteran had covered his back tonight. In the treacherous ecosystem of the Mumbai police force, having an experienced, respected man like Bharat fiercely loyal to him was worth a hundred times the cash.
Miles away in South Mumbai, Harish Gokhale finally returned to the heavily guarded estate of Finance Minister Rajit Nayar.
Standing in the private study, Gokhale handed the leather ledger directly to the Minister. Nayar let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, sinking into his armchair. The sword hanging over his neck had finally been removed.
"No one saw the contents, correct?" Nayar asked, his voice sharp.
"The street rats who cracked the safe have all been dealt with," Gokhale replied smoothly.
"Excellent," Nayar smiled coldly. The dead were the best secret-keepers.
"However..." Gokhale hesitated, his bureaucratic calm faltering for a fraction of a second. "I cannot be entirely certain the police didn't see it."
"What do you mean?" Nayar's head snapped up, his brow furrowing deeply. For a man in his position, an exposed ledger meant complete political annihilation.
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