It was the most honest thing he'd said in the conversation.
Kabir Malhotra's Office, Lower Parel - 11:47 AM
Kabir's assistant was on the phone when Samarth walked through the main doors of Malhotra Investments with Abhay on one side and Armaan on the other.
"Sir, you can't just—you need an appointment—"
"He'll see me," Samarth said pleasantly, continuing toward the corner office.
He pushed the door open.
Kabir was at his desk, on a call, his expression moving through surprise, irritation, and then—when he registered who had walked in and who was behind him—something that briefly resembled fear before charm reflexively replaced it.
"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, and set it down. He stood. "Samarth. This is unexpected."
"I imagine it is." Samarth closed the office door. "I'll make this simple. You know why I'm here."
Kabir's eyes moved to Abhay and Armaan, calculating.
"I'm afraid I don't," he said carefully.
"Three men. A white van. A bookstore in Bandra." Samarth moved closer, and Kabir—despite himself—stepped back. "You paid them fifty lakhs to take my wife."
"That's a serious accusation—"
"Yes," Samarth agreed. "It is."
He nodded to Abhay.
Everything after that happened very quickly.
Warehouse, Dharavi - 2:30 PM
The warehouse was one of several Samarth owned under shell company names. It was clean, secure, and regularly swept for devices.
It was also, currently, occupied by Kabir Malhotra, who had not come here willingly.
Samarth stood in front of the metal chair, his jacket removed, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked at the man who had spent months terrifying his wife—sending her packages designed to make her feel violated, following her, touching her, and finally trying to have her taken from a public place in broad daylight.
He felt nothing complicated about what came next.
"You touched my wife," he said.
Kabir's jaw was set with the remnants of bravado. "I never touched her."
The sound of bone breaking was louder than most people expected.
Kabir's scream bounced off the warehouse walls.
Samarth looked at the man's hand with detached interest. "You tried to take her."
"It was business—" Kabir's voice had lost its shape. "I was going to—she was just leverage, I wasn't going to—"
"She's not business." Each word was very clear, very deliberate, dropped into the space between them like stones into still water. "She is my wife. She is mine. And you thought—" He paused, almost as though genuinely curious. "What did you think would happen? That you'd take her and I'd negotiate? That I'd trade something for her return and you'd walk away with a profit and—what? Keep her?"
The silence was answer enough.
"You were going to keep her," Samarth said, very quietly.
