Two police officers, a man and woman, stand outside our main conference room, cutting very imposing figures as they glare at the ‘900 million USD’ Ananth had scrawled on the wall a few hours ago. A hush has fallen on the office as Go-Go’s employees have paused their work to crane their heads discreetly above their cubicles, like spectator ostriches waiting for the action in the jungle to begin.
I can almost hear necks whip back and crack as I march through the wider office up to the old balding man in khaki, Inspector S Bhatt, his pin reads, and his squat female partner, API Indrani Sengupta, whose stomach, I realise, is protruding at her uniform’s belt in what could only be a pregnancy.I realise in relief that if they sent a senior citizen and a pregnant officer to question me, then the charge can’t be very serious. Still, I am annoyed at the attempt at intimidation. I am especially annoyed at the way the two police officers are staring at our financial goals, with their eyes bugging and their lips curled in disdain. The thought bubble is pretty clear above their heads: 900 million? Dollars? Fuck you.
They don’t like me already....
