Following the address sent by Rishi, Alex drove for almost an hour through dense Mumbai traffic before he finally arrived outside the Mehras’ large bungalow in Juhu.
Rishi and his father, Mr. Mehra, were already waiting at home inside the living room, sitting on a comfortable sofa filled with bookshelves on all sides and display cases with gemstones and antique pieces of jewellery.
The second Alex entered, Rishi stood up with palpable excitement and pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hands, both of them shaking, saying, "Alex, this is fresh Assam tea, have some while it’s hot."
Alex smiled and took a gentle sip, feeling the sharp heat flow down his throat. "Good tea. You always have good tea, Rishi."
Mr. Mehra, who had remained quiet until that point, finally shifted forward, his gaze already on the little box Alex was holding. "My son informs me you have something better still than the last item you sold us. May I see?"
Alex just nodded, rummaged his pocket, and laid a pale green pendant and a silken, nearly milky white bracelet upon the glass surface.
Rishi’s eyes went wide as his father promptly pulled on his white gloves and turned on the inspection lamp he had prepared on a side table. Gently, Mr. Mehra picked up the pendant first, rotating it under bright light, magnifier already up to his eye as he inspected every edge and carved feature.
Minutes passed by in silence apart from the soft buzz of the lamp. Alex remained patiently, having a sip of tea while Rishi paced beside him, glancing at his father’s face every few seconds.
Then, finally, Mr. Mehra took a deep breath. "Rishi. This work... take a look. This is not common jade or some low-grade polished pebble. This is vintage Indian white jade, probably done for some aristocratic family or even connected with some temple. Observe this polish, this clarity — no flaw, no discoloration. This sort of quality is what collectors pay top dollar for."
Rishi leaned over to look through the magnifier but then glanced back at Alex. "Do you think this might be worth a lot of money, Dad?"
Mr. Mehra placed the pendant aside and took up the bangle, his thumb running along the inside curve of it. "The bracelet is identical. Fine grain, cool to the touch, a beautiful piece, likely created for some person of high rank. If both prove authentic — and they will — the pendant alone would fetch six or seven crore to the right buyer. The bracelet would reach seven or eight, possibly more if we can confirm the heritage connection."
Rishi whistled softly, his head shaking. "So collectively, over thirteen crore?"
Alex settled back, his expression relaxed, though in his mind he still could not get over the figures.
Mr. Mehra pushed up his glasses and scrutinized Alex. "I am not going to deceive you — getting thirteen crore in cash is not something we do in a day. We have around six crore in liquid assets today. For the balance, I can give you the share certificates of one of my medical equipment firms. It’s stable, it gives regular dividends, and you can sell off the shares at will — they retain their value."
Alex nodded eagerly. He didn’t much care about getting the last rupee out of it. To him, they were just small fragments.
"Tell me about this company," Alex said, putting his cup down.
Mr. Mehra lost no time. "Tathya Medical Devices. We export surgical instruments, diagnostic equipment, and laboratory materials to hospitals in Southeast Asia and Africa. The recent valuation set my holdings alone at more than seventy crore — although market conditions have softened a little last year. I can transfer a share equal to seven crore at today’s fair market price. You’ll receive dividends, or you may sell whenever you prefer."
Alex smiled slightly. "Good enough. As long as I receive my portion of the money now."
The older Mehra watched Alex’s serene face, his upright stance, the fact that he didn’t bargain for an instant. He could sense this kid was no common lad fresh from college — no middle-class student could fling rare heritage jade on a table and nod at an agreement of crores like it meant nothing.
"Very well then," said Mr. Mehra finally, rising to summon his lawyer. "You just sit here, have another cup of tea. I’ll get the papers done at once."
The whole afternoon went by in a haze as a horde of clerks and a lawyer arrived and departed, bearing stamped documents, share certificates, and cheque slips. By evening, Alex had his new bank message on his phone, ensuring six crore deposited into his account, and signed share transfer forms in a tidily wrapped envelope.
Rishi’s family insisted that he join them for dinner, and the entire evening Rishi would refer to him as ’Mr. Alex’ rather than ’Alex’, making him chuckle more than once.
When he finally arrived home late at night, the old rental flat seemed smaller than ever. He lay on the bed looking up at the cracked ceiling, a bit bewildered that a few days earlier he had barely enough to have takeaway dinner, and now he was a crorepati with stakes in a company he hadn’t even heard of today.
But before slumber could actually set in, his phone rang. The screen indicated ’Mrs. Lata’ — his landlady. He had an idea what this might be about.
He groaned and pushed answer. Her voice burst through before he could even greet her. "Alex! Why haven’t you phoned that nice girl yet? Don’t think I’ve forgotten. Sunday is tomorrow — you will go see her. I have taken care of everything. You’ll thank me for this!"
He moaned under his breath, but once she started there was no detaining her. For the next forty-five minutes, he was stuck holding the phone against his ear - mumbling ’yes, Auntie, yes, of course’ and watching his new bank balance flash on the other screen.
Life was ironic. One minute you were wealthier than you’d ever imagined — the next, you were still sitting there promising your landlady you’d attend a blind date with some anonymous stranger in exchange for her stopping to scold you.