By the time they returned, it was already dark.
The city lights reflected against the windows of Uncle's office.
Leena walked in first.
Fast.
Angry.
The package was still in her hand.
Alok followed a few steps behind.
The moment they entered the cabin, Uncle looked up from his desk.
His expression didn't change.
Not even a little.
As if he had already expected them.
As if the fear in that apartment.
The police.
The gun.
The desperate man.
None of it mattered.
Leena stopped in front of the desk.
Then threw the package onto it.
The parcel slid across the polished surface.
A sharp sound echoed through the room.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Leena's voice cut through the silence.
"He trusts you."
Uncle remained seated.
Unmoved.
Leena took another step forward.
"We all trusted you."
Still nothing.
Her jaw tightened.
"If you don't help him, he'll kill himself."
The words came out harder now.
"He thinks you're going to bring him back."
Uncle finally leaned back in his chair.
His eyes settled on her.
Cold.
Experienced.
Tired.
"Everyone in this business ends up in the same place eventually."
Leena stared at him.
Uncle continued calmly.
"He helped us."
A pause.
"I helped him."
Another pause.
"That's how it works."
Leena's hands clenched into fists.
"That's not helping."
For the first time, Uncle's expression hardened.
"It's business."
The room fell silent.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then Uncle pointed toward the door.
"Now get the fuck out."
Alok looked between them.
Waiting for Leena to argue.
To shout.
To throw something.
Instead—
she laughed once.
A bitter laugh.
Without humor.
Without happiness.
Then she turned around.
And walked out.
The door slammed behind her.
Hard enough to shake the glass.
Alok remained standing for a second before following her.
Neither of them spoke on the way out.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Meanwhile—
across the city—
Sami's world was beginning to fall apart.
A week and a half had passed since he fired Leena.
Ten days.
Ten days without seeing her.
No elevator encounters.
No late-night sightings.
No accidental meetings.
Nothing.
It was almost as if she had disappeared.
Like she had never existed in the building at all.
And somehow—
that bothered him more than it should.
Lately he found himself looking.
Without meaning to.
When the elevator opened.
When he entered the parking garage.
When he came home late.
A part of him expected to see her.
And every time—
she wasn't there.
Tonight he was at a party.
A business gathering.
Music.
Drinks.
People laughing.
Talking.
Pretending.
Sami stood near the balcony with a glass in his hand.
Half listening to a conversation.
Half somewhere else.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression immediately changed.
Sam's father.
His boss.
He answered instantly.
"Sir."
The voice on the other side was furious.
"I trusted you."
Sami straightened.
The alcohol disappeared from his system in seconds.
"What happened?"
"I told you to handle that deal."
Sami frowned.
"What deal?"
"The redevelopment site."
Silence.
Then—
"There is a legal claim."
Sami's grip tightened around the phone.
"What?"
"Someone came forward with ownership papers."
The words hit like a punch.
That wasn't possible.
The legal department had checked everything.
Twice.
No ownership claims.
No active disputes.
Nothing.
Yet his boss sounded certain.
"They have documents."
Sami's mind immediately started calculating possibilities.
Fake papers.
Fraud.
Competitors.
Someone trying to stop the project.
"Sir," he said calmly, "I'll take care of it."
"You better."
The call ended.
Sami lowered the phone slowly.
The party noise returned.
But now it sounded distant.
Meaningless.
His attention was somewhere else.
A land dispute.
Ownership documents.
A legal claim appearing out of nowhere.
Something wasn't right.
He placed his untouched drink on a table.
Turned.
And walked out.
Fast.
By the time he reached his car, his mind was already working.
Because if someone really had legitimate papers—
then the entire project was in danger.
And Sami hated surprises.
Especially expensive ones.
He got into the driver's seat.
Started the engine.
And drove straight toward the office.
The office hadn't slept.
Neither had Sami.
By three in the morning, half the legal department was still inside the conference room.
By four, people were surviving on coffee and frustration.
By five—
everyone looked exhausted.
Including him.
Sami stood at the head of the table, staring at the documents spread across it.
Ownership records.
Land surveys.
Contracts.
Copies.
Reports.
Nothing made sense.
Absolutely nothing.
His hand slammed against the table.
The sound echoed through the room.
"How does this happen?"
Nobody answered.
Nobody dared.
Sami looked at his team.
His eyes hard.
Dangerously hard.
"We spent months on this acquisition."
Silence.
"We verified every document."
Still silence.
"We paid for three separate investigations."
One employee swallowed nervously.
Sami's voice rose.
"And now somebody walks in with legal papers claiming ownership?"
The room remained frozen.
No one had an answer.
Because there wasn't one.
Sami ran a hand through his hair.
His patience was gone.
His sleep was gone.
His temper was hanging by a thread.
"Find out who filed the claim."
His gaze moved around the room.
"I don't care how."
Nobody moved.
Nobody argued.
"Call your contacts."
A pause.
"Lawyers. Government offices. Property departments."
Another pause.
"Find me a name."
One employee nodded immediately.
"We're trying, sir."
"Try harder."
The words came out sharper than intended.
Then Sami looked around the room once more.
"No one leaves until this mess is understood."
The order hung in the air.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Then he walked out.
The conference room remained silent behind him.
His phone wouldn't stop ringing.
One call after another.
Lawyers.
Managers.
Consultants.
Everyone talking.
Nobody giving answers.
Sami rubbed his forehead as he stepped into the nearly empty ground-floor canteen.
The building felt strange at this hour.
Quiet.
Cold.
The usual noise gone.
Only the humming of fluorescent lights remained.
He poured himself coffee.
Black.
Strong.
Exactly what he needed.
Or thought he needed.
He carried the cup toward the waiting area.
Dropped into a chair.
Looked at the sunrise beginning to color the windows.
His head hurt.
His eyes burned.
And somehow—
between legal claims and missing documents—
his mind still drifted somewhere it shouldn't.
A woman who hadn't been seen for ten days.
A woman he had fired.
A woman who should have been forgotten.
But wasn't.
His phone rang again.
He answered.
Another useless conversation.
Another dead end.
By the time he hung up, his coffee had gone cold.
"Damn it."
He stood.
The cup tilted.
Dark coffee splashed across the front of his white shirt.
For a second he just stared at it.
Then closed his eyes.
Slowly.
Like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.
Again.
"Perfect."
The word came out bitter.
He headed toward the employee washroom.
The restroom was empty.
Quiet.
Clean.
At least compared to the chaos upstairs.
Sami stood at the sink trying to wash the stain from his shirt.
It wasn't working.
Of course it wasn't.
Nothing was working tonight.
He let out a frustrated breath.
The restroom was empty.
Quiet.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Sami stood in front of the sink, trying to wash the coffee stain from his shirt.
It wasn't coming out.
Of course it wasn't.
Nothing had gone right for days.
He splashed water across the fabric again.
Then stopped.
A smell drifted through the room.
Strong.
Sharp.
Bleach.
His eyes shifted toward the far end of the restroom.
One of the stall doors stood open.
A gray cleaning bucket sat nearby.
Yellow gloves.
Cleaning chemicals.
A mop leaning against the wall.
At first he didn't pay attention.
Then he noticed someone kneeling beside the stall.
His hand froze over the sink.
The woman was scrubbing the toilet seat.
Methodically.
Carefully.
Like she'd done it a thousand times before.
Her sleeves were rolled up.
Rubber gloves covered her hands.
A few loose strands of dark hair had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her face.
The harsh white light above made her look tired.
Smaller somehow.
For a second—
Sami simply stared.
His brain refusing to connect what his eyes were seeing.
Then the woman shifted slightly.
And he saw her face.
Leena.
The air left his lungs.
She was on her knees beside a toilet bowl.
Cleaning stains with a brush.
The same woman who had once argued with him in his office.
The same woman who had looked him in the eye without flinching.
The same woman he had fired.
A week and a half.
That was all it had taken.
A week and a half for her to disappear from his department.
And reappear here.
The smell of bleach suddenly felt suffocating.
Leena hadn't noticed him.
Or maybe she had.
Maybe she simply didn't care.
She dipped the brush back into the bucket.
Continued working.
Focused.
Silent.
Like his presence meant nothing.
Sami felt something twist inside his chest.
Something unpleasant.
Something heavy.
Guilt.
For the first time since firing her, he was forced to see what happened afterward.
Not imagine it.
See it.
The cleaning cart.
The gloves.
The chemicals.
The exhaustion beneath her eyes.
The reality.
His reality.
The one he had created.
As if sensing him staring, Leena finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
She didn't look embarrassed.
Didn't look ashamed.
Didn't even look surprised.
Only tired.
Tired and distant.
Slowly she removed one glove.
Then the other.
Dropped them into the bucket.
"What do you need, sir?"
The word sir landed like a slap.
Professional.
Cold.
Deliberate.
A reminder of exactly where they stood now.
And standing there in the harsh fluorescent light, surrounded by bleach and silence, Sami realized something.
The sight of Leena hating him would've been easier.
Because this—
this indifference—
hurt far more.