“The ghost of future losses,” Vinod said, and hung up.

Rohan stayed up all night. By dawn, he had a plan.

Rohan closed his laptop. The “Download Free Khosla Ka Ghosla” file was still on his desktop. He right-clicked it. Moved it to trash. Emptied trash.

“Mr. Khurana,” Vinod said, his voice a silky, dangerous purr. “We have satellite imagery of your… wall. The National Security Council is not amused. We can do this the easy way—you remove the wall by Friday—or the hard way, which involves the Income Tax department, the Enforcement Directorate, and a very long stay at Tihar jail. Your choice.”

The next morning, Rohan woke to his father shaking him. B.D. Khosla’s eyes were wet. “Beta,” he said, holding up his phone. A photo from the site. The wall was gone. Not broken. Not damaged. Professionally demolished. In its place was a single white flag on a bamboo stick—Khurana’s surrender.

He didn’t need it anymore. He’d lived it. And in the end, he realized, the best things in life aren’t free. They’re earned with a little cleverness, a little courage, and a family that refuses to give up.