The morning sun bled through the blinds of Aryan’s private corner office, but the warmth didn't reach him.
He hadn't slept. After leaving the hospital, Aryan had driven straight to his company headquarters, driven by an uncharacteristic, manic need to uncover the truth. He stood behind his mahogany desk, staring at a thick manila folder that had just been hand-delivered by Mr. Roy, his private investigator.
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