Chapter 4 - The Uncle’s Offer
Two weeks later, the war moved from the courtroom to the shadows.
I was sitting in the private consultation room at Grace House when Sarah Jenkins walked in, accompanied by a man wearing an expensive charcoal suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
“Maya,” Sarah said, her expression guarded. “This is Jayesh Patel. Navin’s uncle.”
Jayesh Patel was a heavy-set man in his late fifties, with thick mustache and cold, calculating eyes. He didn't offer to shake my hand. He sat across from me, placed his hands on the table, and looked at me as if I were a minor inconvenience he was planning to clear away.
“Maya,” Jayesh said in Gujarati, his voice low and patronizing. “You have made a big mess. You have put our family name in the newspapers.”
“Speak in English, Mr. Patel,” I replied coldly, leaning back in my chair. “We are in an American court system now. And your family name was dragged through the mud by the monsters you raised.”
Jayesh’s eyes narrowed slightly, surprised by my sharpness. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick cashier’s check, sliding it across the polished wood toward me.
“Five hundred thousand dollars,” Jayesh said smoothly. “Cash. You drop the criminal charges, sign an affidavit stating the audio was a misunderstanding, and take a flight back to India. You can buy a house in Mumbai, live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
I looked down at the check. Five hundred thousand dollars—more money than I had ever seen in my life.
“And what about my baby?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “What about the son Navin killed on that porch?”
Jayesh waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away a fly. “You are young. You can marry again. Have more children. Why destroy two lives over a tragic accident? Navin is my brother’s only son. I will not let him rot in a Texas prison.”
I picked up the check, held it in both hands, and slowly, deliberately tore it in half.
Jayesh’s jaw dropped in absolute shock.
I tore the pieces in half again, and dropped the paper scraps into his open briefcase.
“You think my pain has a price tag, Jayesh?” I said, leaning forward until I was inches from his face. “You think you can buy the blood of my son? Listen to me very carefully. Not only am I going to ensure Navin and Devki spend the rest of their lives in prison, but I have already handed your financial ledgers to the Internal Revenue Service.”
Jayesh turned deathly pale. “What ledgers?”
“The hawala accounts,” I smiled—a cold, razor-sharp smile. “The sixteen motel properties you bought using unregistered foreign wire transfers. The federal auditors served search warrants on your corporate headquarters an hour ago.”
Jayesh stood up so fast his chair fell backward, clattering against the floor.
“You crazy bitch!” Jayesh roared, his hands shaking with rage. “You think you can fight us? We will destroy you!”
“Try it,” I said softly, standing up to meet his glare. “I’ve already survived the worst your family could do. You have everything to lose, Jayesh. I have nothing left to fear.”
May you like
Sarah stepped between us, gesturing toward the door. “Leave the building now, Mr. Patel, before I have federal marshals arrest you for witness intimidation.”
Jayesh grabbed his briefcase, glaring at me with pure venom, before rushing out the door.
