The morning sun filtered through the vertical blinds of Dushiant's apartment as he poured himself a black coffee, his mind already racing through the steps of the day. Day two had arrived. He had successfully blended in, assumed Parth Bhardwaj's identity without suspicion, and now was entrenched within the very heart of Saksham Industries. But the path ahead was far from simple. Yesterday had opened one crucial door: the files tied to Ranjan were buried deep inside Ravi Tripathi's system. And Ravi—lecherous, petty, and corrupt—was an obstacle Dushiant could no longer ignore.
He stepped out dressed in a more muted shade of navy, briefcase in hand, face calm and composed. His entry to the company was now routine; security barely glanced at him. The badge he wore bore Parth's name, but every step he took, every move he made, was Dushiant Rajput through and through.
As he entered the 19th floor, the HR department was already buzzing. He spotted Ravi in the distance, leaning a little too close to a junior staffer, whispering something that made her visibly uncomfortable. Dushiant clenched his fist subtly. But he didn't react—yet. Everything would happen on time. On his terms.
For now, he had another objective.
Step One: Mapping Ranjan Malhotra
Dushiant's plan was to slowly build rapport with Ranjan Malhotra. He needed to get closer—earn his trust without raising suspicion. The problem was, Ranjan wasn't easy to approach. He was a veteran in the company, sharp, cautious, and always surrounded by assistants or other executives.
But Dushiant had always been patient.
At precisely 10:45 AM, Ranjan arrived on the 21st floor. He always made the same walk: past the finance team, coffee in hand, up to the glass-panelled corner office he occupied. Dushiant didn't watch directly—he tracked reflections, mirrored angles from desk lamps, subtle glances while pretending to discuss files.
After lunch, he took his first subtle step.
He approached the office of Ravi Tripathi with a manila folder. Ravi was half-dozing behind his desk, the faint noise of a crass web series playing through his earbuds. Dushiant cleared his throat.
"Sir, I was told to submit the revised applicant metrics to Mr. Malhotra. I believe he cross-verifies all analytics this week?"
Ravi scoffed, pulling out an earbud. "Since when do interns report to directors? Give it here."
"I was told by Bhattacharya sir directly," Dushiant lied smoothly, calm. "It's flagged for immediate priority."
Ravi, half-annoyed and too lazy to verify, waved him off. "Go, go. But don't act too smart. They don't like brown-nosing."
"I understand, sir."
As he stepped into the upper floors, Dushiant rehearsed the tone, the humility, the measured steps of a junior associate. When he reached Ranjan's secretary, he offered the folder with a polite, quiet nod.
She took it but looked him over. "Who asked you to deliver this?"
"Mr. Bhattacharya said Mr. Malhotra needs these by 2 PM. I figured I should be prompt."
There was hesitation, then approval.
"You can go in. He's finishing a call."
Dushiant entered, spine straight, eyes down, as though mildly intimidated.
Ranjan sat at his large mahogany desk, phone at his ear, his voice firm.
"Yes, I want the revised numbers before the week ends. No excuses, Jigna. We're losing traction in our CSR pitch."
He ended the call and looked up. "You're Parth, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're Ravi's intern?"
"Yes, sir. I've also been helping Mr. Bhattacharya with data inputs."
"Hm." Ranjan took the folder and flipped through the pages. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't question the content. Dushiant had made sure it was legitimate but layered with impressive formatting to catch the eye.
"Nice formatting. Who did this?"
"I did, sir."
Ranjan nodded once. "Well, keep it up. You can leave."
A small, humble smile. "Thank you, sir."
As Dushiant left, he noted every detail—the office layout, the type of lock on the cabinet, the temperature of the room. He'd seen a small fingerprint scanner near a secondary drawer. Classified files, perhaps?
Step Two: Building the Web Around Ravi
Ravi Tripathi had no idea that his days were numbered. But Dushiant wasn't going to let his downfall come through brute force. He needed evidence. Real, tangible proof of his misconduct—and for that, he needed bait.
By evening, Dushiant had already begun interacting with three junior female associates under the guise of team documentation. He asked them about workflows, coordination issues, HR protocol… and each time, the women hesitated slightly when asked about Ravi.
He knew that look. It was the look of someone who had experienced something they didn't want to talk about.
In the break room, he found Meenal—sharp, competent, and visibly defensive when Ravi entered.
"Mind if I ask something?" he said softly.
She gave him a side glance. "Depends on the question."
"Have you ever had issues working under Mr. Tripathi?"
Her shoulders stiffened. "Why are you asking that?"
"Because I want to understand how things really work around here."
She didn't speak for a moment, then sipped her tea. "People here… they don't complain. It never goes anywhere. You're better off staying silent and staying safe."
That was all the confirmation he needed. But it wasn't enough for a takedown.
That night, back in his apartment, Dushiant opened his laptop and ran a proxy script. He accessed the local intranet archives, digging into Ravi's email metadata and login logs. No direct messages that were incriminating. But there were gaps—unexplained late-night logins, external drives mounted, and encrypted file movement to unknown locations.
He'd need more.
Step Three: The Setup
The next morning, he would plant a drive inside Ravi's system—one that mirrored activity and captured keystrokes. But for now, his target was slowly building a bridge toward Ranjan. Not too fast. Not too obvious.
He had left a small handwritten note in the folder from yesterday—nothing ambitious, just a polite suggestion about shifting two key datasets into dynamic charts for quicker presentations.
Today, at around noon, the secretary came by.
"Mr. Malhotra wants to see you."
The other interns looked up. Dushiant kept his expression neutral but curious.
Ravi raised an eyebrow. "What did you do now, brown-noser?"
Dushiant didn't respond.
He walked up to Ranjan's office. This time, the door was open.
"You left this suggestion," Ranjan said, tapping the note.
"Yes, sir. I hope it wasn't overstepping."
Ranjan shook his head. "Not at all. You used to work in analytics before this internship?"
"A bit of freelance for startups. Mostly data structures and visualization."
"Interesting. I might need a few of these redone. Can you come by after 5?"
"Of course, sir."
And just like that, the web widened.
As Dushiant walked out of the room, he felt it—a small shift in the balance. Not enough to change the game, but just enough to tilt a piece forward.
Ravi was still laughing at some meme with another junior associate when Dushiant returned. But the endgame had already begun. And by the time Ravi realized he was a pawn in someone else's game, it would be too late.
To be continued...