Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) (30 page)

7th June 2008, morning

Boston

MIT was in mourning once again, for the second time in two months. Cirisha was as popular an individual as Richard, if not more. But more than Cirisha, the incidents that had plagued the university over the last few months worried Antonio.

‘It is unfortunate that we have lost a fabulous colleague, a charming faculty member and above all, a sterling human being. Cirisha was special to all of us. And our condolences go out to the family—husband Aditya Raisinghania and father Mr Narayanan—both of whom are with us today. Their grief is unparalleled. May God give them the courage to withstand the trauma.’ Antonio’s speech was a moving one. Many in the audience could be seen wiping a tear or two.

Aditya and Narayanan were sitting in the front row, flanked by Cardoza on one side and Deahl on the other. Narayanan had his hand on Aditya’s shoulder, trying to console him. Aditya kept breaking down.

The memorial for Cirisha ended with Aditya speaking about his wife. His was a passionate and moving speech, which ended with him saying, ‘Pending the coroner’s inquest, the Boston Police have declared that they will be treating this as a homicide, which makes it even more tragic. Why would anyone want to kill someone who was loved by everyone?’

Aditya collected all of Cirisha’s belongings—whatever had been cleared for handover by Lieutenant Windle and his team of detectives—and walked back to his car. As Aditya drove out of the parking lot, Narayanan spoke. ‘When will they allow us to perform the last rites?’

‘I spoke with the chief of MIT Police an hour back. The toxicology tests will take a bit longer. Another forty-eight hours is what he said. Only after that will they hand over her body and allow us to perform the last rites. Since they are treating this as a homicide, they need to investigate all possible angles.’ There was a prolonged silence after that, only to be broken by the persistent ring of Aditya’s phone.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Raisinghania. Calling from Cambridge Partners. Please be on the line.’

‘Mr Raisinghania. Hello!’ A mature voice came on the line.

‘Good afternoon.’

‘This is Etienne Lucier. Remember, I met you at the office of Cambridge Partners last week?’

‘Yes, I do. How can I forget?’

‘I heard about the tragic death of your wife. Please accept my heartfelt condolences.’

‘You don’t mean that, do you? You wanted her out of the way.’

‘Oh no, Mr Raisinghania. We wouldn’t want her out of the way. We were just requesting for a small change in approach. That’s all. In fact, I was wondering if we could meet sometime this evening. Same place.’

‘I will confirm.’

‘Sure, Mr Raisinghania. I will wait for your confirmation.’ And the caller hung up.

‘Who was it?’ asked Narayanan.

‘Someone from Cambridge Partners. The guys who I met for a job last week. They want to meet.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know. We will soon find out.’

‘Will you go to meet them?’

Aditya thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I will.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Dad, Cirisha was killed. The cops believe so. I want to know if there is any link between Cambridge Partners and Cirisha’s death. If I go, I might just be able to confirm my suspicion. You don’t stress yourself, Dad. I will also be going to the duPont Center for a game of fencing after the meeting at Cambridge Partners. I’ll probably be late getting back.’

Aditya was in a pensive mood. Cirisha’s death had shaken him. The fact that Cirisha’s last thought of him was that of a deceitful, unscrupulous and morally degenerate person was gnawing at him. He would never have the chance to correct that impression. He would have to live with this regret all his life.

57

7th June 2008, evening

Boston

Lucier was waiting in the lobby when Aditya walked in. It was seven in the evening, well past regular work hours, and most of the people in the building had left. ‘Welcome, Mr Raisinghania. It’s good to see you again. The circumstances are very unfortunate.’

Aditya didn’t bother to say anything in response. He was fuming. It showed in the way he was breathing. Heavy and fast.

Lucier led him to the top floor where they had met the previous week. The bar was open. Bottles of the finest of single malts were on display. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

‘No, thanks.’ Aditya waved his offer away.

‘Thanks for coming, Mr Raisinghania.’

‘What is it that you want from me? That couldn’t wait for a few days more?’

‘I know what you are going through.’ He walked towards the bar, poured a drink for himself and turned to face Aditya. ‘Mr Raisinghania, the board of directors at Cambridge Partners is very impressed with you. In fact, we were that day too. But there were some extraneous factors because of which we couldn’t do anything for you.’ Aditya rolled his eyes in response, frustration writ large on his face. That didn’t have any impact on Lucier. ‘If you are still interested, we would like to hire you as a partner in our fund. USD 340,000 per annum, a mortgage at zero interest to cover the house you are staying in, business class travel and a car of your choice. Does that sound attractive, Mr Raisinghania?’

For a moment, Aditya didn’t know what to say. He proceeded to get up from his seat. ‘Thank you for your offer. I am not in a state wherein I can think properly. Give me a couple of days’ time. I will come back to you.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Lucier extended his left hand, touched him on his shoulder and pushed him back into the seat, albeit gently. ‘You are a big man now. In our business, business takes precedence over everything else. Family, grief, joy, occasions, celebrations. In fact, business takes precedence over life itself. You have seen that before, haven’t you?’

Aditya had had enough. He got up. He was about to open his mouth when the door opened and the chairman walked in. ‘Mr Raisinghania. I see that my friend Lucier is trying to make up for his rude behaviour last week.’

‘You assholes!’ Aditya bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘You threaten me that you will kill my wife and you expect me to work for you?’

The chairman didn’t react. ‘Mr Raisinghania,’ he said coolly, ‘in our business, we hire only men, not their families. Men who work in Cambridge Partners come here alone without any baggage. I’m sure you understand that. We are hiring you for your skills. Nalin had recommended you very highly. We had opportunities in India and wanted to see if you would be interested in fronting it for us. If you are not …’ He paused for effect. ‘Thank you for coming.’

Aditya stormed out of the room, making a futile attempt to bang the door shut.

He got into his car and cranked the ignition. He tapped the gear stick, moved it to drive mode and pressed the accelerator. The engine revved up and, within minutes, he was driving back towards Cambridge. The men he met hadn’t denied killing Cirisha. Did they have a role to play? He couldn’t say. He had mentioned to Lieutenant Windle about their threat, but didn’t know why they had not been investigated. Or maybe they had and he didn’t know about it. The traffic cleared up and he was zipping on the turnpike. The rubber rolling on the road made a humming sound which always excited someone like him with a fondness for driving. Flipping the car into cruise mode he picked up his mobile from the seat to his right. There were four missed calls. All from Narayanan. He would get back home and speak to him. Serious conversation was not something he wanted to engage in.

Forty-five minutes later, he turned right at exit 94 and drove up to the gates of MIT. It had become dark by then. The clock on the dashboard was pushing 8.30 p.m. A game of fencing would help, but there was only a slim chance of someone being there for him to engage with. However, deciding to take a chance, he drove up to the duPont Center and parked. He was about to get out when he saw four men entering the ground floor. All of them wore jackets and seemed well dressed. When one of them turned to check on the main door, a piece of glistening metal under his jacket caught Aditya’s eye. The men were armed. This worried Aditya. They didn’t look like students. Nobody walked into the duPont Center in expensive suits and that too with concealed weapons—it required a fair degree of arrogance and courage. Especially in Massachusetts, where carrying any kind of firearm in public was banned. MIT in particular was even stricter about it. Especially after the Richard fiasco, they had become paranoid about anyone carrying guns on campus. What was the campus security doing? How were these men allowed to come inside?

He decided to leave and turned the car. In no time, he was cruising on the turnpike, heading towards home.

He slowed down as he entered Glen Evelyn Drive. A strange instinct told him that everything was not as it should have been. A perfectly acceptable state of mind for a man who had just lost his wife. As he hit the final hundred-metre stretch, he noticed that the lights were on in all the houses down the street.

Except one.

Where was Narayanan? Why hadn’t he switched on the lights? Had he gone out for a walk and not returned yet? He drove up to the garage door which didn’t open when he clicked the remote. Was there a problem with the power circuit? He parked the car in the driveway and got off. He walked up to the front porch and, with a spare key, opened the main door to the house and stepped in.

It was dark and everything seemed quieter than usual. There was an eerie edge to that silence, which made him nervous. He switched on the passage light. It didn’t come on. So that was the problem. The power supply had been cut. ‘Daaad?’ he called out. No response.

‘Dad? Are you home?’ No response. He felt he saw a fleeting shadow move across the room. Maybe he was hallucinating. ‘Dad!’ he called out again. He had reached the kitchen. It was pitch dark. Holding on to the kitchen counter with one hand for support, he started walking towards the living room. The kitchen counter kept him company for twelve feet and then deserted him. He tapped his pocket for his mobile, but that was warming the car seat. He walked a few feet, something didn’t feel right. Something on the carpet was sticking to his shoes. He held on to a doorframe, bent down and touched the sole. It felt gooey. Maybe Narayanan had dropped something, he thought as he walked towards the steps leading to the basement, where the electric room was located.

He rubbed his feet on the wooden flooring to get rid of the sticky substance. Maybe he could restore the electricity once he got to the power room. He took the first step, the second and then the third. On the fourth step, he tripped, fell and hurtled down the twenty-step staircase. And then, as suddenly as he tripped and fell, with almost the same abruptness, he stopped. His feet were in the air, his head was pointing towards the basement and his back was on an incline between two steps. And he hadn’t hit the lower floor. He was stuck midway. Something was blocking his free fall. He gathered himself, turned around and sat up on the stairway as he tried to see what had interrupted his fall. Hurriedly, he reached out and touched the object. First he felt hair, then the face and then the torso. He screamed. ‘Daaaaaad!’

But the scream was lost in the deafening stillness all around. Aditya reached out to touch the near-lifeless body of Narayanan lying in front of him. He patted his way to the right hand and felt for the pulse. It was missing. Not knowing if he was doing it the right way, he moved his hand up swiftly and brought it close to Narayanan’s nostrils. He held it there for a couple of seconds. He couldn’t feel his breath. Devastated, he was about to take his hand away, when he felt something warm. A warm gust of air. Narayanan was alive. He was breathing. Feebly, but breathing nevertheless. Aditya stood up and ran. Ran out of the door. Straight to the car. His mobile phone was inside. He pulled it out and called 911.

It took twenty-six minutes for the critically injured Narayanan to be wheeled into the emergency care section of MIT Medical, the medical centre dedicated to the needs of the MIT community. While Narayanan was bleeding profusely, greater damage had been caused by the blow of a blunt object to the right side of his head.

The doctors were of the view that it would take a while for Narayanan to recover. It was their rider that worried Aditya: ‘If he recovers.’

Whoever had done this to Narayanan had left the house in a mess. Everything was upside down. Mattresses had been ripped, sofas cut open, drawers pulled out, everything strewn on the floor. They were obviously looking for something. Narayanan must have come in the way and got hit.