Victory against Doshi's sabotage was complete, but it left a metallic taste in Harsh's mouth, not of triumph, but of vigilance. The 'Sargam' cassette player was a runaway success, its sales figures painting a graph of near-vertical growth. The public saw an unassailable titan. Harsh felt the constant, grinding pressure of being the man who had to hold the entire edifice together.
The sheer volume of the legitimate business was becoming a management behemoth. The speaker factory construction was behind schedule, delayed by monsoon rains and bureaucratic hurdles. A key shipment of capacitors from Taiwan was held up in customs, threatening to halt the 'Swaranjali' radio line for three days. These were normal business headaches, but they consumed time and mental energy, distracting him from the more delicate, dangerous game he was playing.
He found himself in his office late one night, long after Deepak and Sanjay had left. Spread before him were two sets of ledgers. One was from Bharat Electronics, filled with the robust, healthy numbers of a thriving company. The other was Rakesh's private ledger, tracking the flow of capital to Singapore. The contrast was stark. One was a roaring, public engine of industry. The other was a silent, deep-current of power.
Rakesh entered, his presence as quiet as ever. "The five crore transaction for this month is complete. The dollars have been deposited. Soni is... impressed with our consistency. He is now suggesting we could move to seven crore next month. The pipeline is solidifying."
Harsh nodded, rubbing his temples. "The pipeline is a hungry beast. It demands more and more of the company's cash flow. We are growing the legitimate business, but this shadow operation grows faster, demanding a larger share of the pie. We are running just to stand still."
"It is the nature of the endeavor, Harsh Ji," Rakesh said, his tone devoid of judgment. "To create a war chest of this magnitude, one must feed the forge. The success of 'Sargam' is our best defense. It makes the cash movements less conspicuous."
"But it also makes Mehta and the accounts team work harder to justify it all," Harsh countered, the memory of the internal friction fresh in his mind. "We are building a house of cards on a foundation of lies, Rakesh. And the higher it gets, the more a single gust of wind will matter."
"The alternative is to remain a large fish in a small pond," Rakesh stated simply. "You have always chosen the ocean."
He was right. Harsh had never been content with mere success. He craved scale, dominance, a legacy that transcended borders. The American stock market wasn't just an opportunity; it was the ultimate ocean. But to sail it, he needed a vessel sturdy enough to cross it, and a crew that didn't ask questions.
A new idea began to form, a way to bridge the two worlds and alleviate the internal pressure.
"Rakesh," Harsh said, looking up, a new intensity in his eyes. "We need to create a separate, legitimate-looking entity for our... international acquisitions. Not a shell company for moving money, but a real, functioning investment vehicle."
"An investment vehicle?" Rakesh queried, intrigued.
"Harsh Technologies International," Harsh named it, the words feeling solid. "Headquartered in Singapore. Its stated purpose will be to scout for advanced foreign technology that we can license or acquire for Bharat Electronics. It will have a small office, a legitimate staff. We will use it to justify the movement of larger sums of capital abroad. Payments from Bharat Electronics to HTI for 'technology scouting fees' and 'licensing options.' It will be a cleaner, more defensible story for Mehta and the team. And it will be the perfect vehicle to eventually place our trades in America."
It was a stroke of genius. He was creating a legitimate-looking bridge for his illegitimate capital flows. The "technology scouting" was a plausible cover, especially for a company known for its cutting-edge chip design.
"An elegant solution," Rakesh acknowledged, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "I will begin the process of incorporation immediately. We can have it established within a month."
As Rakesh left to enact the plan, Harsh walked to the window. The Dholera facility was a constellation of lights in the darkness, a monument to his will. He thought of the boy in the Bhuleshwar alcove, fixing a single Walkman. That boy would have been terrified by the scale and complexity of what he now managed. That boy would have been broken by the weight of the deception.
But he was not that boy anymore. He was a king who saw the entire chessboard, who understood that some pieces had to be sacrificed, and some moves had to be made in shadow, to protect the kingdom. The weight of the crown was the price of the throne.
The internal doubts, the fear of exposure, the constant balancing act—these were not signs of weakness. They were the necessary burdens of building something immortal. He had asked for an empire. This was the cost. And as he looked at the silent, sleeping factory, he knew, with a cold and absolute certainty, that he would pay it. The river of rupees would flow, the golden bridge would hold, and the dollars waiting in Singapore would soon be unleashed upon the world. The next move was coming, and he was the only player who saw the board.