On a sweltering summer morning, a man dressed like a construction worker and covered in cement dust came up at a fancy house in New Delhi’s most upscale district.
He was carrying a worn-out fabric pack on his back and a rough hat in his hand.
Two bodyguards in black stood in his way as soon as he stepped forward.
“Go away!” We don’t hire anyone here.
The dude didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it out. One guard picked it up, stared at it for a second, then sneered at it, crushed it, and threw it on the ground.
“Do you think you can meet Sahib with this? Leave!
He didn’t move; his eyes were fixed on the big iron gate in front of him, as if he knew who would come through it. He was pushed hard against the side of the road, where he only nodded and muttered,
– “I’ll be back.” In half an hour.
There was a tremendous party inside the villa for Mr. Rajendra Malhotra’s 70th birthday half an hour later. He is in charge of the Malhotra Group, which is a well-known real estate empire in India. There were kids, grandkids, in-laws, close friends, and a lot of media at the celebration.
While Mr. Rajendra was talking, the butler ran in, leaned very close, and murmured something in a low voice. His face turned white, his hands shook, and his voice broke in a matter of seconds:
“Where is he?”
No one got it. Mr. Rajendra dropped everything and went straight to the door, leaving his family in the dark.
“Do you remember me?” The man spoke in a low, chilly voice.
Mr. Rajendra was out of breath and didn’t say anything. The man pulled out an old notebook, flipped to a page, and held it up. There was dried blood on the pages of the notebook, and the words “Betrayal is life’s greatest crime” and the name “Rajendra Malhotra” were written on it.
He said in a low voice, “Thirty years ago, you pushed me off the scaffolding to steal my project and my fiancée.” You thought I was gone. But I made it through. I’m back now, and it’s not for money.
Mr. Rajendra got down on his knees and said a name that has been off-limits in the house for thirty years.
“It’s… Ramesh… My little brother…!!!”
The villa was shocked and froze. The person who said “dead in a site accident” and was taken out of the family records was the same worker who was outside the gate that morning.
Mr. Ramesh stepped back and pointed to a car outside the gate:
“I didn’t come alone.” I’m here to inform you what our mother’s will said. She was the one who kept me hidden, but now I’m back to get what is mine.
That night, the Malhotra Group ceased all business because of a quarrel over an inheritance. The late matriarch’s secret will indicated that the younger brother Mr. Rajendra had tricked him into thinking he was the genuine heir.
Mr. Ramesh, the mason who had been booted out earlier, turned around and went away, leaving behind individuals who were shocked and thought they were “entitled.”