Of course, you are absolutely right. My apologies for the logical errors. A private company in 1992 would not be subject to that kind of external audit scrutiny, and the Singapore money is Harsh's personal, secret capital, completely separate from t
The first million dollars in the Singapore account was a silent, monumental victory. It was a pool of potential, completely detached from the grind and glory of Bharat Electronics. But channeling such a vast river of rupees—three crore this month, soon to be five—through the corporate structure of his legitimate business was like trying to hide a monsoon in a canal. It was causing internal ripples that threatened to become waves.
The conflict came to a head not in a dramatic confrontation, but in the quiet of the accounts department. Harsh had instituted a rigorous internal control system, a habit from his future life that served him well. The head of this department was a meticulous, gray-haired man named Mehta, who had been with him since the early Lamington Road days.
Mehta came to Harsh's office, his ledger in hand, his expression deeply troubled. "Harsh Bhai," he began, his voice respectful but firm. "The payments to this new consultant, 'Vanguard Technical Services'... they are enormous. Five lakhs this week alone. And the documentation..." He placed the invoice on the desk. "It lists 'proprietary acoustic calibration.' But we have our own sound engineers. Deepak's team handles this. What are we paying for?"
This was the friction. The "consultancy" and "machine parts" invoices he and Rakesh were generating to justify the cash flow to Soni were logically flimsy under the gaze of a competent, loyal insider like Mehta. In 1992, without the complex corporate veil of a multinational, such large, vague internal expenditures stood out like a beacon.
Harsh kept his expression neutral, his mind racing. He couldn't reveal the truth. Mehta was loyal, but his world was black and white, rupees and paise. The shadowy alchemy of turning black money into gold and then into offshore dollars would shatter him.
"Mehta Ji," Harsh said, his tone calm and reassuring. "This is for the next phase. The technology we are buying isn't just for the speakers. It's for the entire audio ecosystem—the cassette players, future products you haven't even seen yet. It's proprietary German engineering. The cost is high because the advantage it gives us will be permanent."
It was a deflection, a half-truth wrapped in the language of strategic ambition. He was speaking Mehta's language—investment, advantage, future growth.
Mehta's brow remained furrowed. "I understand strategy, Harsh Bhai. But the paperwork is weak. If the Tax Department ever decided to look closely... and these payments are so large, they might. They would ask the same questions I am asking. What are we buying? Where is the tangible asset?"
This was the real danger. Not an internal auditor, but the government's tax authorities. Their scrutiny could unravel everything.
"You are right to be cautious," Harsh conceded, validating Mehta's concern. "Your diligence is what keeps this company strong. From now on, you and Rakesh will work together on these specific payments. Rakesh handles the strategic sourcing; you ensure the paperwork is bulletproof. We will create more detailed purchase orders, technical specifications. We will make it withstand any inspection."
It was a masterstroke. By bringing Mehta into the process—or at least, giving him the illusion of control—Harsh was neutralizing the threat. Mehta's meticulous nature would now be applied to perfecting the cover, not questioning it. His pride in his work would be used to build a more convincing fiction.
Later, with Rakesh, Harsh's tone was grim. "Mehta is a symptom. The system is straining. We need to be smarter. The cash flow from the business is too visible."
"The solution is to generate more legitimate, high-margin revenue," Rakesh stated coolly. "The 'Sargam' cassette player. If it is as successful as the radio, our overall profits will soar. A five crore rupee payment is suspicious when the company's profit is two crore. It is less suspicious when the profit is twenty crore. We must make the legitimate business so large that our... capital movements... become a smaller percentage of the whole. We hide the tree in the forest."
Harsh nodded. The answer wasn't just better lies; it was more overwhelming truth. The public, legitimate success of Bharat Electronics was the best camouflage for his private financial maneuvers.
The following week, the launch of the 'Sargam' cassette player was a masterclass in marketing, just as Harsh had demanded. The event was a massive success, and pre-orders flooded in.
And in a silent, air-conditioned server room in Singapore, the digital balance of the BH-1 account grew again.
Harsh stood at his office window, watching the celebration on the factory floor below. He felt the strange duality of his existence. He was the cheering CEO, the champion of Indian manufacturing, directing his loyal team like Mehta to build a brighter, legitimate future.
And he was the shadowy architect, using the very success they built together as a shield for a different, secret war. He was turning their hard work into a facade, and the weight of that deception was a new kind of burden. The foundation of his empire was now split into two layers: the solid, visible one everyone could see, and a hidden, precarious one that, if discovered, could bring it all crashing down. The cracks were there, and only he could see them.