We drove to Mahesh's office and headed straight to his cabin. I knocked on the door, but there was no response. After a brief hesitation, I opened the door slowly, only to find the room empty. I stepped inside, scanning every corner, hoping that maybe he was just out of sight. But the cabin was completely deserted. Frustration surged through me, and I slammed the door shut before storming out, feeling my patience slip away.

A few moments later, Raghu slid into the driver’s seat. He leaned over, pushing open the passenger door for me. “Are you coming or not?” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

“Where to?” I responded, my tone flat and indifferent.

He sighed, clearly frustrated but trying to stay calm. “To Mahesh’s house,” he replied, emphasizing each word as if speaking to a child.

Realizing I had let my emotions get the best of me, I mentally chastised myself for losing my temper. Without another word, I climbed into the car, and Raghu started the engine, driving us toward Mahesh’s home.

When we arrived at Mahesh's house, the scene was far from what one would expect on a typical day. The place was unusually crowded. The front gate stood open, and without hesitation, we walked inside. The somber atmosphere hit me immediately as I noticed several people in tears. My heart began to race, sensing something terrible.

As we made our way through the crowd, the weight of the situation became painfully clear. There, in the center of the room, lay Mahesh’s body, carefully placed in an icebox. People were gathered around, offering their condolences to his grieving family, who stood nearby, looking shattered. A lump formed in my throat as I realized the finality of it all. This was not the time for questions or conversations.

Raghu and I silently approached to pay our respects, bowing our heads in reverence. The air was thick with sorrow, and I could feel the overwhelming grief that filled the room.

we decided to discreetly speak to a few of the people present to gather more information about what had happened. From our brief conversations, we pieced together the tragic details. Mahesh had been in the United States for a conference, and on his return journey, he had been involved in a fatal accident. The impact was so severe that he had died on the spot.

Raghu broke the silence as we walked away from the crowd. “Do you think this is just a coincidence?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he feared the answer.

I turned to him, confused. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to read the concern on his face.

He paused for a moment, glancing back at Mahesh’s house before continuing. “It’s too much of a coincidence,” he said, his voice tinged with suspicion. “Everyone involved in the 1996 excavation... they’ve all died.”

A chill ran down my spine as the weight of his words sank in. I nodded, slowly realizing the grim pattern. “You’re right,” I murmured.

Raghu glanced at me, his expression shifting to one of determination. “So, what do we do next?”

I sighed, feeling the frustration building inside me. “I don’t know,” I admitted, pulling the file from my bag and staring at it. “I thought Mahesh would have some answers, but now… he’s gone.” In a burst of frustration, I tossed the file to the ground, as if its very existence mocked my inability to solve this mystery.

Before I could say anything more, a voice broke through my clouded thoughts. “Never make decisions in anger,” said an elderly man who had been sitting nearby, observing quietly. He bent down, retrieving the file from where it had landed. His voice was calm, yet authoritative, carrying the wisdom of years. “Anger clouds your judgment, young man.”

I watched as he dusted off the file and handed it back to me, his gaze steady and kind. “You’ll find your answers,” he said with a knowing smile, “but not if you let frustration blind you.”

"I saw you a few days ago. You came to meet Mahesh, didn’t you?" the old man asked.

“Yes,” I nodded, a little surprised that he remembered.

He chuckled softly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve worked with Mahesh for years, and let me tell you, I’ve never seen him that angry. You must’ve really struck a nerve.”

I winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to upset him. I just... I needed some important information, and things got a bit heated.”

The old man waved off my apology. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Mahesh is a good man, but he had his temper, especially when it came to certain topics.” He paused, then added, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing a bit of your conversation with him.” His expression grew more thoughtful. “I don’t know if this will help, but I saw this man a few months ago.” He pointed to a photograph in the file—it was Srinivastav.

My heart skipped a beat. “Really? Do you have any information on him?” I asked, my voice tinged with hope.

The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, for that, I’ll need to check the visitor’s register. Everyone who comes to the office or the house has to provide their details before being allowed in. I might be able to find something.”

My eyes followed him as he stood up and shuffled away. I waited anxiously, my mind racing, as the minutes dragged on. After about ten minutes, he returned, holding a small piece of paper. Without a word, he slipped it into my hands.

I unfolded it quickly, my breath catching as I read the numbers written on it. It was a phone number.“Thank you, sir,” I said, my voice filled with gratitude.

The old man smiled warmly, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I hope it leads you to the answers you’re looking for,” he said quietly. Then, with a nod, he turned and slowly walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

I quickly dialed the number, my heart racing as I held my breath. The phone rang a few times before a faint, weary voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Srinivastav Uncle?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Yes, speaking,” he replied.

“Uncle, this is Vihaan, Mahadev Chowdary’s son. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s urgent. I need to meet you, please,” I requested, my tone pressing the urgency.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. After a pause, he said, “Alright. I’ll send you a location. Meet me there.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll see you soon,” I said before hanging up, relief flooding over me.

I turned to Raghu, grinning with a newfound sense of hope. “Finally, someone is alive. I think we’re close to getting some answers.”

But Raghu’s face remained serious, his expression clouded with concern.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my smile fading as I noticed the shift in his demeanor.

“You need to see this,” he said quietly, handing me a folded piece of paper.

I took it and unfolded it, my eyes scanning the contents. It was an old article about the 1996 excavation. The text hinted at something extraordinary—an insider claimed that the excavation had uncovered items of immeasurable value, treasures that could bring unprecedented prosperity to India. However, the article didn’t delve into specifics, only mentioning that the matter was highly sensitive.

I looked up at Raghu, confusion mirrored in both our expressions. “We’ve never seen anything like this in any of the news articles, newspapers, or even at the library. Where did you find this?” I asked, feeling a strange unease.

Raghu shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. It must have slipped out of the file when the old man handed it back to you.”

For a moment, we stood in silence, both trying to make sense of this unexpected discovery. There was something more to the excavation than we had been led to believe, and whatever it was, it had been carefully hidden for years.

Just then, my phone pinged with a message—it was the location from Srinivastav Uncle. “Raghu, follow up on this news,” I said, handing him the article. See what you can find out. “I’m going to meet Srinivastav Uncle.”

Raghu nodded, his eyes still fixed on the article, and we parted ways. I quickly got into my car and sped off towards Cholapuram.

The drive felt longer than usual, my mind racing with possibilities. As I neared the location, I stopped my car at the exact spot marked on the map—a quiet, secluded area with little activity around. I sat there, glancing at my phone, when a soft tap on the window startled me.

I turned to see Srinivastav Uncle standing beside the car. I quickly rolled down the window.

"Uncle," I greeted him.

Without a word, he nodded and gestured toward the door. I unlocked it, and he slipped into the passenger seat, closing the door quietly behind him. His face was weathered, years of knowledge and burden etched into his features.

“Start the car,” he said in a low, firm voice. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

Without hesitation, I did as he instructed. As we drove in silence, he gave me directions, his voice calm yet filled with an underlying tension. I could feel the weight of whatever secrets he carried, and with each turn, my curiosity deepened. Where was he taking me, and what was I about to uncover?

The place was deserted, an eerie silence enveloping us as we stepped out of the car. Srinivastav Uncle gestured for me to follow him, and I complied, my curiosity piqued. We walked deeper into the forest, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot the only noise accompanying us. Eventually, we reached an old temple, its ancient stones covered in moss and vines.

He turned around and, noticing I had fallen a bit behind, signaled for me to catch up. We settled behind a large rock near the temple, the shadows providing a sense of privacy.

“Hello, Uncle,” I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty as I searched for the right words to begin.

“Hi, Vihaan. It’s been a long time,” he replied, his expression softening momentarily before shifting back to seriousness.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. “Uncle, what exactly happened during the 1996 excavation?” I asked, my eyes locking onto his, hoping for truth.

"Are you more interested in learning about the 1996 excavation," he asked, his voice steady and controlled, "or are you trying to find out if your father really killed someone?"

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. How does he know that's what I'm after? I never mentioned my suspicion to anyone. My throat tightened as I struggled to mask my shock. How could he know something so personal, something I'd barely even allowed myself to admit?