Chapter 2
The Loose Thread.
The day began, as always, with chaos at Pink Bow Advocates.
“Who finished the last of the chai powder?” Adhyani yelled from the pantry, waving an empty jar like it was evidence in a high-profile trial.
“I don’t drink chai,” Arsh said from his desk, sipping an iced coffee. “Tea is just leaf soup. Join the coffee side—we have better taste.”
“Your coffee looks like sewage,” Adhyani shot back.
“And it tastes like hard work,” Arsh replied with a smirk.
“Can we stop arguing about beverages?” Risha interrupted, already surrounded by case files. “Stalin, what do we know about the runaway bride?”
Stalin, sitting at his usual corner desk with his usual samosa, didn’t even look up. “We traced some payments to an offshore account. It’s connected to a company called Kar Enterprises.”
“Kar Enterprises?” Atishi asked, her typing slowing. “That’s Faith Kar’s company, isn’t it?”
“Wait,” Adhyani said, straightening up. “Faith Kar? The one with the jawline that could cut glass?”
“No, no,” Stalin interjected, deadpan. “The one with the double chin that should cut weight.”
The room burst into laughter.
“Double chin!” Arsh wheezed, clutching his iced coffee. “That’s… oddly specific.”
“It’s not my fault Faith Kar’s shadow has its own time zone,” Stalin added, popping another bite of samosa.
“Stalin, stop fat-shaming billionaires,” Atishi scolded. “It’s beneath you.”
“Nothing’s beneath me,” Stalin replied. “Except Faith Kar, if she trips and falls.”
The laughter started up again, even as Risha groaned and rubbed her temples. “Can we please focus?”
“She’d make a good pillow, though,” Stalin muttered.
“That’s enough!” Risha snapped.
12:00 PM
As the team tried to regain focus, Adhyani tapped her pen against her notebook. “What we need is proof—photos, videos, something solid.”
“We could’ve hired Arpita for that,” Arsh said casually, leaning back in his chair.
“Arpita?” Atishi asked. “The one who shot that cover for Vogue with the flamingos?”
“The one and only,” Arsh said. “She’d have gotten us Pulitzer-worthy photos by now.”
“Arpita charges more than our yearly salaries combined,” Stalin said. “You can’t even afford to say her name without applying for a loan.”
“She wasn’t even available,” Risha cut in. “We called her, and she was in Monaco photographing a cat with a diamond collar.”
“That’s the life I want,” Adhyani sighed.
“Instead,” Stalin muttered, “you’re here with me.”
“Ew” Adhyani replied, unfazed.
1:30 PM
As the brainstorming continued, Stalin suddenly looked up. “You know what’s weird? This bride scam? It’s giving influencer. Like, she probably films herself running out of weddings.”
“That’s stupid,” Adhyani said, scoffing.
“Why?” Stalin asked, smirking. “You used to do TikTok dances.”
The room went silent.
“Wait, what?” Arsh asked, blinking.
“I didn’t dance,” Adhyani said defensively. “I did transitions. You know, cool outfit changes and—”
“Sounds like dancing,” Stalin said, smirking.
“You’re just jealous,” Adhyani muttered.
“Of what?” Stalin replied. “Your 12 followers and that one auntie who commented, ‘Beta, this is a job?’”
“Okay, okay!” Risha interrupted. “No more TikTok stories. Can we please focus?”
“For the record, it still sounds like dancing,” Stalin muttered, earning a glare from Adhyani.
3:00 PM
Before the team could dig deeper into Kar Enterprises, Atishi entered with a frail elderly woman holding a bundle of papers.
“Ms. Malhotra,” the woman began, her voice trembling, “I need your help. My son is trying to evict me from my house.”
“Evict you?” Risha frowned. “From your own house?”
“Yes,” the woman said, dabbing at her eyes. “He says it’s ‘bad for his personal brand.’ He wants to turn it into a content studio for his Instagram.”
Arsh nearly choked on his coffee. “A content studio? For what? Tutorials on how to be the world’s worst son?”
“It’s not funny,” Atishi scolded.
“It’s a little funny,” Stalin muttered. “Evicting your mom for likes? That’s a whole new low.”
“Stalin,” Atishi said. “Pull the property records. Let’s see if her son even has a claim.”
“I’ll do it,” Stalin said, typing furiously. “But if I find out he’s doing TikTok dances in his mom’s kitchen, I’m quitting.”
“TikTok isn’t the problem,” Adhyani shot back.
“Coming from the professional,” Atishi muttered, grinning.
4:oo PM
Later that day, Risha’s phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number but she didnt pick up.
“Ms. Malhotra,” a smooth voice said when she answered. “I hear you’ve been asking questions about Kar Enterprises.”
“Who is this?” Risha asked sharply.
“A friend,” the voice replied. “Just a friendly reminder—some questions are better left unanswered.”
The call ended before Risha could respond.
“Well, that’s creepy,” Arsh said, leaning over her shoulder.
“Who was it?” Atishi asked.
“Someone who doesn’t want us digging into Faith Kar,” Risha said grimly.
Adhyani gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. Do you think it was her? Did Faith Kar just threaten you? Can I add that to my resume?”
“Calm down,” Risha snapped. “We don’t even know if she’s involved.”
“She’s involved,” Stalin muttered. “Kar Enterprises doesn’t sneeze without her approval.”
“Faith Kar is like the Soviet Union,” Arsh quipped.
“Don’t touch that metaphor,” Stalin snapped. “The Soviet jokes are mine.”
“Fine,” Arsh said with a grin. “You’re still the office’s red boy.”
7:00 PM
By evening, the team was wrapping up when Risha’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen and froze.
“Drop the case, or you’ll regret it.”
Attached was a photo of the Pink Bow Advocates office, taken from across the street.
“Well,” Stalin said, peering over her shoulder. “That’s not ominous at all.”
“They’re watching us,” Atishi said quietly.
“Let them,” Risha replied, her voice steady. “If they think a few threats are going to scare us off, they clearly don’t know who they’re dealing with.”
“You mean us?” Arsh asked, smirking.
“No,” Risha said. “wait yes, I mean us.”