2

“Sir, our share prices are dropping fast after last night’s scandal.”

He didn’t even look up from the files on his desk. His fingers continued flipping pages calmly, until the word “scandal” registered.

“What scandal?” he asked, voice low and cold.

His assistant shifted nervously. “Sir... Abhinav Sir was arrested last night. Drunk driving case. It’s all over the news this morning.”

The files were slammed shut. He looked up, eyes sharp, furious.

“That bastard! Where is he now?”

“Still in jail, Sir. I tried speaking to the officers early morning. They refused to grant bail. Said there’s pressure from higher authorities not to let him walk free just yet.”

He stood up, pushing his chair back with force.

“He’s the face of our hospitality arm. The face, damn it. Just two days before our grand launch, and this idiot gives the media a reason to destroy us.”

The assistant didn’t respond. He knew better.

Pacing the length of his massive glass-walled office, he muttered,

“I told him to stay clean. One job. Just one damn job. Handle the luxury line, smile at cameras, and behave like a goddamn professional. But no. These silver-spoon brats never listen.”

He stopped suddenly, turning back.

“Call Vikram from legal. Tell him to get that fool out by tonight. Quietly. I don’t want a single reporter outside that jail. Bribe. Threaten. I don’t care. Just make it happen.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Also,” he continued, grabbing his phone, “call Neha. I want a PR blast ready in an hour.”

“About the launch?”

“About everything. Make the media forget this mess. Tell them our new luxury restaurant is a revolutionary experience—whatever nonsense they want to hear. Celebrity invites, tasting events, live music—go big. Flood every social feed, every news outlet. I want trending hashtags by 6 PM.”

His assistant quickly typed notes on his tablet, fingers trembling slightly.

“Should I also prepare a statement on the arrest?”

He paused.

“No. Denial. No comment. Let the lawyers handle it legally. Publicly, we act like it didn’t happen. We’re too clean for this drama.”

“Understood, Sir.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his breath. This was not how the week was supposed to go. Investors were already on edge due to their last acquisition. Now this?

The silence was broken by a knock on the office door. It was the company’s COO, Meera Singh. Smart, calm, ruthless in crisis.

“I heard,” she said, walking in. “News broke on the early morning channels. They’re tearing us apart on Twitter.”

He sighed. “Perfect timing. Have you spoken to the board?”

“They’re demanding an emergency meeting at 2 PM. They want assurance this won’t affect the launch. Or the quarterly report.”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “Because we’ll bury the story before lunch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless someone digs up the CCTV footage of Abhinav crashing his Mercedes into a divider in South Delhi.”

His face turned pale for a moment.

“There’s footage?”

“Possibly. A journalist tweeted about it.”

He clenched his jaw.

“Find that journalist. Buy the footage if it exists. And if it’s already in circulation—”

“—Then we spin it,” Meera interrupted confidently. “Say Abhinav was avoiding hitting a stray dog. Or was ill. Humanize him. Make him the victim.”