The private office of the mid-level minister smelled of old leather, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint metallic tang of power that clung to the heavy wooden furniture long after the official hours had ended. Outside, the corridors of the secretariat had emptied. The only light came from a single desk lamp casting a yellow pool across the polished surface of the large teak desk. Aradhna stood just inside the door, her file clutched tightly against her chest, the thin cotton of her simple salwar kameez sticking slightly to her back from the humid evening air.

She was twenty-three, an ordinary college graduate from a modest family in a small town. No connections. No money for bribes. Just a degree in arts and a desperate need for any government clerical post that would steady her family’s finances. The call had come that afternoon—an unexpected summons for a “personal interview” with the minister himself, after hours, in his private chamber. She had dressed carefully in a pale blue salwar kameez, her long black hair tied in a simple braid, no makeup beyond a thin line of kohl. She had hoped the formality would protect her.