CHAPTER 31: "THE JOURNALIST"

  One year after the Echo Killer case closed, Arjun Mehra sat across from Vikram at the same Nizamuddin restaurant where they had first strategized against Khanna. The nihari was as good as ever, but both men ate mechanically, their minds elsewhere.

  "I'm writing a book," Arjun said finally. "About the Khanna gang. About you. About how one ordinary man brought down a criminal empire."

  Vikram set down his naan. "I don't want my story glorified, Arjun. I've spent the last two years trying to convince people that what I did wasn't heroic."

  "I know. That's exactly the point of the book. To show the real cost. The prison time. The trauma. The way violence echoes through generations. But Vikram, your story matters. It exposes systemic failure. It shows what happens when citizens lose faith in institutions."

  "And it inspires copycats. We saw that with Rohit."

  "We also saw you talk him down. That's part of the story too. The redemption. The warning."

  Vikram was silent, considering. Finally, he nodded. "If you write it, write the truth. All of it. The good, the bad, the ugly. Don't make me a hero or a villain. Make me human."

  "That's the only story worth telling," Arjun agreed.

  Over the next three months, Arjun conducted extensive interviews. He spoke to Priya, who described the sleepless nights and the constant fear. He spoke to Inspector Singh, who detailed the corruption within the police force. He even tracked down some of Khanna's former victims, now rebuilding their lives.

  He interviewed Advocate Meera Kapoor about the trial, Uncle

  Mahesh about the kidnapping, and even managed to get statements from some of the surviving gang members now serving time.

  But he didn't speak to Aanya. Vikram forbade it. "She's building her own life. Let her do it without being defined by what I did."

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  The book was titled "Blood Price: The True Story of Vikram Sharma." It was released eight months later by a major publisher. The launch event was held at the India International Centre in Delhi.

  Vikram didn't attend. He watched from home as the news channels covered it. Arjun was being interviewed, explaining the research, the interviews, the themes of systemic failure and desperate violence.

  "This isn't a story about a vigilante," Arjun said on camera. "It's a story about what happens when society fails its citizens. When the system that's supposed to protect you becomes another predator."

  The book became a bestseller within weeks. It was debated in Parliament. NGOs cited it in reports on police reform. Law schools added it to their curricula.

  But with visibility came danger.

  Two weeks after the book's release, Arjun called Vikram, his voice shaking. "I've been getting threats. Calls. Messages. People connected to the gangs. They're angry about the exposés, the names I mentioned."

  "Go to the police."

  "I did. They're offering protection, but Vikram... they mentioned you too. Your address somehow leaked. It's on some underground forums. People know where you live."

  Vikram's blood ran cold. He looked at Priya, who was cooking dinner, at Aanya studying in her room. Normal. Safe. Fragile.

  "We need to move," he said.

  That night, Vikram sat with Priya and Aanya and explained the

  situation. Aanya, now a practicing lawyer, was furious.

  "We're not running. We've already run too many times. I'll file for police protection. I'll get a court order if needed."

  "Beta, these aren't people who respect court orders."

  "Then what? We keep running forever? Papa, you taught me to stand up. Now let me stand up for us."

  Priya squeezed Vikram's hand. "She's right. We can't keep living in fear. We either face this or we're prisoners forever."

  Vikram looked at his wife and daughter—two strong women who had suffered because of his choices. They deserved peace. But they also deserved to live without fear.

  "Okay," he said. "We stand. But we're smart about it. Police protection. Security cameras. We don't take unnecessary risks."

  The next day, Inspector Singh arranged for increased patrols near their apartment. Vikram installed security cameras. Aanya filed a legal petition citing harassment and threats.

  For two weeks, nothing happened. Then, on a Thursday evening, as Vikram returned from the community center, he noticed a black Scorpio parked across the street. Two men sat inside, watching.

  He didn't panic. He called Singh, gave the license plate number, and went inside through the building's back entrance.

  Singh called back thirty minutes later. "The car belongs to a shell company. But we ran the faces through our database. Low-level operators. Probably just surveillance."

  "Surveillance means they're planning something."

  "We'll increase patrols. But Vikram... maybe it's time to consider witness protection. A new city. New identities."

  "No. I'm done running."

  That night, Vikram couldn't sleep. He stood on the balcony, looking at the city. Somewhere out there, people wanted him dead. Not because of what he'd done, but because of what Arjun had written.

  Truth had consequences. And he was living them.