cricket. Treasured old Hindi film DVDs.
No hawala broker in Mumbai had a female courier. Or so the reports from various sources claimed. The Dubai number Vikram had obtained from Lele's personal assistant neither responded nor returned the call.
A search warrant for Lele’s premises was obtained. His personal laptop didn’t offer much help. E-mails were few, and only official. An occasional joke or chain mail forwarded. It was mostly used for accounts, but had no reference to any hawala transaction. Obviously not. Hawala prospered on verbal commitments, not on receipts. Internet search history was full of porn, some even downloaded to the hard drive. Lele, contrary to what his personal assistant might have believed, had no testified will, and in that case all that was his was now his only brother's, who was in Sydney. Fortunately, there was no one to cry for what had once been Adit Lele. It made Rita think how hollow any success was, how passing life was, when there was no one to shed a tear?
The local police station had called in Anne — Lele’s personal assistant — for questioning, in light of her relationship with her boss. Yes, she had slept with him on occasions. Hardly a crime. She lived with her mother at Byculla, and was with her mother the whole time. The alibi was double checked with neighbours who had seen her return home from work and then, again, around 11 p.m.
Lele's bank account showed no irregular transactions, despite him laundering money all over the world. All his friends, business associates, and even acquaintances had been checked out and cleared. The police had contacted all the recently used telephone numbers on his mobile; none of the people called had met Lele that evening. There had been no headway. Not a single fucking lead.
FIVE
2007
Samir Suri was livid. A two-and-a-half hour delay on a two hour and twenty minute flight was deplorable. Utterly unacceptable, at least, to someone as busy and important as him: CEO of India for a large Korean conglomerate. The reason he had agreed to a mid-day flight from New Delhi, leaving other critical work, was to meet two people in the evening before his day- long meeting the next day to discuss, and sign, the underwriting agreement for the upcoming IPO; the Korean parent company needed funds for expansion, and there was no better market to exploit than the rising middle class of a newly awakened India, aroused by materialism.
And why not? For over five decades since Independence, the economy had been shielded from foreign companies. The state controlled infrastructure, core industries, the licences. Numerous jokes did the rounds for decades that India had gone from British Raj to Licence Raj. Those walls had been pulled down now, foreign investment was coming in, and the citizens even got opportunities to invest in overseas businesses. Corporate India was waking up. Brown dollar was becoming important.
Samir Suri had no doubts that the IPO would be oversubscribed, but the underwriters had to be convinced. For that reason, his first meeting for the evening had been scheduled with the Executive Assistant to the Chief Minister of Maharashtra state; Samir would confirm the company's commitment to invest in the state by putting up a manufacturing plant near Pune. That information, he knew, when it got transmitted from the CM's office, would soften the underwriting firm's questions. When the flight got delayed, he had to ask his secretary to reschedule the meeting for breakfast the following day.
It would be hectic, but it had to be done.
Samir looked out of the window as the captain asked the staff to "prepare for landing" in ten minutes. The Arabian Sea was calm. Marine Drive was distinguishable by its streetlights along the promenade that resembled a string of pearls.
8:29 p.m. Samir's mobile rang the instant he switched it on. He was still walking out of the aircraft. He glanced at the screen to see the called ID. Unknown Caller. He thought for a
No hawala broker in Mumbai had a female courier. Or so the reports from various sources claimed. The Dubai number Vikram had obtained from Lele's personal assistant neither responded nor returned the call.
A search warrant for Lele’s premises was obtained. His personal laptop didn’t offer much help. E-mails were few, and only official. An occasional joke or chain mail forwarded. It was mostly used for accounts, but had no reference to any hawala transaction. Obviously not. Hawala prospered on verbal commitments, not on receipts. Internet search history was full of porn, some even downloaded to the hard drive. Lele, contrary to what his personal assistant might have believed, had no testified will, and in that case all that was his was now his only brother's, who was in Sydney. Fortunately, there was no one to cry for what had once been Adit Lele. It made Rita think how hollow any success was, how passing life was, when there was no one to shed a tear?
The local police station had called in Anne — Lele’s personal assistant — for questioning, in light of her relationship with her boss. Yes, she had slept with him on occasions. Hardly a crime. She lived with her mother at Byculla, and was with her mother the whole time. The alibi was double checked with neighbours who had seen her return home from work and then, again, around 11 p.m.
Lele's bank account showed no irregular transactions, despite him laundering money all over the world. All his friends, business associates, and even acquaintances had been checked out and cleared. The police had contacted all the recently used telephone numbers on his mobile; none of the people called had met Lele that evening. There had been no headway. Not a single fucking lead.
FIVE
2007
Samir Suri was livid. A two-and-a-half hour delay on a two hour and twenty minute flight was deplorable. Utterly unacceptable, at least, to someone as busy and important as him: CEO of India for a large Korean conglomerate. The reason he had agreed to a mid-day flight from New Delhi, leaving other critical work, was to meet two people in the evening before his day- long meeting the next day to discuss, and sign, the underwriting agreement for the upcoming IPO; the Korean parent company needed funds for expansion, and there was no better market to exploit than the rising middle class of a newly awakened India, aroused by materialism.
And why not? For over five decades since Independence, the economy had been shielded from foreign companies. The state controlled infrastructure, core industries, the licences. Numerous jokes did the rounds for decades that India had gone from British Raj to Licence Raj. Those walls had been pulled down now, foreign investment was coming in, and the citizens even got opportunities to invest in overseas businesses. Corporate India was waking up. Brown dollar was becoming important.
Samir Suri had no doubts that the IPO would be oversubscribed, but the underwriters had to be convinced. For that reason, his first meeting for the evening had been scheduled with the Executive Assistant to the Chief Minister of Maharashtra state; Samir would confirm the company's commitment to invest in the state by putting up a manufacturing plant near Pune. That information, he knew, when it got transmitted from the CM's office, would soften the underwriting firm's questions. When the flight got delayed, he had to ask his secretary to reschedule the meeting for breakfast the following day.
It would be hectic, but it had to be done.
Samir looked out of the window as the captain asked the staff to "prepare for landing" in ten minutes. The Arabian Sea was calm. Marine Drive was distinguishable by its streetlights along the promenade that resembled a string of pearls.
8:29 p.m. Samir's mobile rang the instant he switched it on. He was still walking out of the aircraft. He glanced at the screen to see the called ID. Unknown Caller. He thought for a
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