by Nisha Sharma
“Check the attitude, Hem,” Frankie Uncle said from the head of the table. He was older than dirt, and the only face in the room that was remotely familiar. Frankie Uncle was a Nobel Laureate and had known Hem since he was in diapers, which meant he’d be the hardest to get in line. “You haven’t been at the company in over a year and you waltz back in here making comments about decisions we have to make? That’s not how this works, puttar. We have obligations to shareholders now.”
Puttar.
Son.
He hadn’t acted like one in a long time, thanks to his father’s disapproval, but he’d still do right by him.
“No, this isn’t how it works,” Hem said, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “I was enjoying a whiskey in Manila when I was asked to come back to Bharat. And why? Because I find out that the board went rogue and made the decision, without management or my father’s knowledge, to put together a bullshit meeting. This could’ve been addressed remote and I could’ve finished my whiskey and my night.”
“Where is your father?” another board member asked. “Sending his thug sons to do his dirty work like a coward?”
Hem calmly straightened his cuffs with diamond cuff links that matched the stud in his ear. “Talk about my father like that one more time and you’ll find yourself out of a board seat, a job, and in a precarious financial situation. Depending on my mood, I may just rip your fucking throat out, too.”
“Theoretically,” Ajay interjected.
Hem grinned at his brother. “Yes, theoretically of course. And like I said, this is an inconsequential meeting. Dad hasn’t worked on something new in the last five years but a few weeks ago, inspiration struck. Inspiration that will line all of our pockets like it has for the last three decades.”
“He’s in the innovation center,” Zail chimed in. “He couldn’t catch a flight back in time, and I told him not to bother with dialing in.”
“And as my brother so eloquently stated,” Ajay added, “this is a bullshit meeting. I agreed to Sanjeev’s suggestion to use one of his attorneys for the compensation committee, and you all have to vote on three additional chair spots, but no decisions can be made outside that scope without my express approval. Submit your nominations. My father will confirm them and you can go back to relaxing and receiving checks.”
“And don’t think for a second,” Hem said, leaning on the conference table, “that if you try to do anything to jeopardize the health of this organization, my brothers and I will wait patiently on the sidelines.”
Hem knocked on the conference table in front of Mina’s laptop. “Based on the letter WTA sent detailing the formal offer, you have thirty days, but I made some calls. We got the deadline extended to two and a half months. Our decision is due the week of our next quarterly board meeting.”
“I figured you’d do as much, but I’d like to see confirmation of that date change.”
“Fine. I expect you to be here in two days, Ms. Kohli. That’ll give us enough time to set you and the team up with nondisclosures and clearances. You’ll need various expertise to assist you, especially a technical patent—”
“Yes, I know. That’ll be me.”
“Excellent.” He stood to his full height again and nodded to his brothers. They moved to the door and he grabbed his bag to do the same.
“Wait!” Mina said, standing again. “I know that Zail runs R&D and Ajay is COO, but what are you?”
“We want to know that, too,” Frankie Uncle said. “You storm in here, ordering us around like you’re COO again, but you have no right. You quit, remember?”
“But I’m still a major shareholder, and Bharat’s success is in my best interest,” Hem said and swung his briefcase strap over one shoulder. “I have a new title to prove it. Interim SVP of Legal at Bharat, Inc.” He motioned to Mina with his chin. “Isn’t that convenient?”
Hem left the room with his brothers following close behind.
“What was that about?” Ajay asked.
“That was deflection and arrogance,” Hem said. “You can tell she’s smart just by the way she stood her ground and asked me who I was.” She’s fucking gorgeous, too. “Mina is going to be interesting to work with.”
“I agree,” Zail mused.
“Stop thinking with your dicks for a second,” Ajay said. “I’m talking about your new position here, Hem. You go from COO to interim SVP of Legal?”
“It’s the best I could do under the circumstance.”
“But is it true?” Zail asked with a grin. “That’ll make Dad feel better in no time. The job doesn’t require approval from the board, so they have no say in whether or not you can be involved.”
“It’s temporary, and the only way that these fuckers will accept my presence. It’s clear that they want to accept the offer. You can see the hunger on their faces.”
Zail’s expression darkened. “No one is going to take Dad’s business from us. I know you two don’t see eye to eye anymore, Hem, but you coming back means a lot.”
“You know I’d do anything for the family.”
“Right,” Ajay said.
They bumped fists in a triad, the same way they’d been doing since they were kids.
It was time to get to work, Hemdeep thought.
Chapter Four
The board stayed for another thirty minutes and selected the rest of the committee members to review WTA’s offer. Ajay and Zail rejoined the meeting, while Hem touched base with the legal team and made appointments to get up to speed. He came back just in time to see the conference room empty with his brothers leading everyone to the exit. He scanned faces, looking for one person in particular, and when he found her, she was alone and packing her tablet away in a sleek bag while facing the windows and the view.
He’d been too busy setting up his firm, too caught up with work to date for any length of time. And as shallow as it sounded, he avoided women that he could take home to his mother. He’d learned the hard way that his parents were a little too eager to have their sons married to anyone, and a Punjabi bride would make them uncontrollable.
But with Mina, he’d be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t willing to play with fire and get a little closer to her.
“Do you have the information you need?” he asked.
Mina looked over her shoulder, surprise on her face. “Yes. I should be good to go. I’ll be in the office first thing next week to get started. I’ll need introductions to your legal team—”
“Finance, R&D, and executive leadership, I know.”
She smiled and looped the straps of her bag over her shoulder. “Yes, of course you would. I’ll email Ajay if I have any other requests.”
“We could have a working lunch to talk through anything you may need. I have a little more time to discuss the due diligence strategy. Unless you have someone you need to get back to, of course.”
Mina let out a short laugh that was so bright, Hem could’ve sworn he saw her sparkle. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking whether or not I’m available?”
“Man, all the rule books told me that line was practically secret code that only guys knew.”
“Nope.”
“Nope to if you have someone? Or nope to the secret code part?”
She turned to look at him, and he felt the impact of her stare like a punch to the gut. Those eyes could probably convince him to do anything. Then her perfect mouth curved. “The answer is nope to all three questions. I’m not seeing someone, the secret code is a myth, and I won’t have a working lunch with you. I don’t think you and I would enjoy the same food.”
“Why do you say that?”
She moved to walk past him, and he turned to follow. “Besides the fact that I’m doing a due diligence review for the purchase of your father’s company?”
“Well, yeah.”
She turned to look over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anyone who wears a hundred-thousand-dollar suit probably thinks they’re too good for my tast
e.”
Hem looked down at his clothes, the only ones he had with him from Manila, and sighed. “I feel like it’s cliché to say that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Then don’t,” she called out cheerfully as she walked down the hallway.
“What if I told you I knew where you could get the best Indian food in the tristate area?”
“I’m from Jersey. I already found the best Indian food.”
“Moghul Express in Edison?”
Mina stopped in her tracks and whirled around to face him, this time with surprise. “Well, well. The man does have taste after all.”
“Imagine the work we can get done over bhature chole.”
“Their pani puri is also—”
“Amazing,” Hem said with a sigh. “See? Our tastes aren’t that different after all.”
Mina turned and continued walking toward the front doors. “Fine, you do know good Indian food. But it’s going to take more than that to get me interested in something other than your financial reports, Hemdeep Singh. I’ve got too much going on in my life to be distracted by hundred-thousand-dollar suits. Let’s keep it professional, shall we?”
She pushed through the glass doors and pressed a button to call the elevator. With one last flutter of her fingers in his direction, she disappeared from view.
Hem clutched a hand over his chest and let out a sigh. Where had that woman been all these years? He’d rarely if ever met someone else who enjoyed Indian street food as much as he did.
“Sir?”
Hem looked over at the receptionist whom he’d scared shitless when he first came in. She held out his coat and bag. Her cheeks were stained red with embarrassment.
“Oh. Thanks. I appreciate this. Sorry for barging in earlier.”
“Uh, it’s not a problem, sir.”
He took his things, left the receptionist beaming, and after a few more words with his brothers, went to do the most important thing on his list for the day.
Visit his mother.
Hem opted to go straight to the family estate in Alpine, New Jersey, instead of his apartment in midtown. He’d moved into his penthouse after the big fallout and he hadn’t been back to the estate since. If he was being honest, he missed home. The penthouse used to be a place he stayed after long nights at the office, so it always had a hotel feel to it. Bharat Mahal, the estate, was different. The main house had eleven suites, but Hem’s parents wanted to make sure that they provided their children with extended family quarters, so each son had a two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath bungalow with two-car garage and finished basement.
Hem wondered if a woman like Mina would appreciate his bungalow. She seemed pretty city, and he’d known another woman with similar tastes that preferred New York over Alpine.
“You’re an idiot, Hem,” he muttered to himself when he realized where his thoughts wandered.
“Pardon me, sir?” his driver called out through the partition.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Hem opened up his computer and plugged in his ear piece so he could call his client that he’d represented for the Philippines contract. He walked through the deal and then completed some release documents for Bharat.
He finished just as the car pulled through curling wrought-iron gates flanked by elephants. Bharat Mahal. He pocketed his phone as he embraced the onslaught of memories from his childhood . . . and the last time he’d seen the home.
Crying.
Shouting.
Anger.
There wasn’t any laughter anymore, any joy as there once had been. The grounds were meticulously maintained, but quiet and lifeless.
Hem’s phone buzzed and he read the incoming text message from his mother.
MOM: Aloo Parante khane hain te ghar aja
Of course his mother knew that he was back. And of course the first thing she’d ask him was to come to the house if he wanted paranthas. Homemade fried bread stuffed with potatoes and spice were exactly what he could use after weeks of hotel food. He typed a quick reply to let her know that he’d come after his shower.
“Which direction, sir?” the driver said. The gates had closed behind them and the car idled on the main road that led straight to his parents’ house.
“Take the first left, the third bungalow on the left closest to the main house.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hem watched as they passed Zail’s place first. It was painted a soft gray-blue with bursts of purple and yellow flowers on the front porch. Zail managed the innovation center in California so he didn’t keep a place in the city. He used the bungalow as his East Coast residence when he flew out twice a week.
Less than a hundred yards down the lane was a carbon copy home in pale yellow. Ajay’s house.
When Hem’s bungalow came into view, he felt a pang of sweetness and regret. He was supposed to live in the bungalow with his wife. He’d planned to raise his children there. The mint green colonial with white shutters, maroon pots, and the wind chime Lisa had purchased for him were exactly as he’d left it a year and a half ago.
He got out of the car and circled, seeing the lush gardens spread across the front lawns, the main house in the distance, and the thick forest that enclosed the estate on three sides.
“Thanks, David,” Hem said as the driver took the suitcase out of the trunk.
“My pleasure.” He left without another word while Hem climbed the front porch and opened the front door.
Sandalwood. Rose incense. Pine.
He felt the ache deep in his chest as he crossed the polished hardwood and ran his fingertips over the plush leather couch that faced a flat-screen TV mounted over a fireplace. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, which had two suites on either side of the hall, and entered the master. All he wanted to do was lie down on the bed and avoid the inevitable, but he couldn’t. His mother was waiting for him.
His father was waiting.
Hem made quick work of showering and getting dressed. Instead of walking, he drove his SUV out of his garage and down the drive toward the main house. Bikram Chacha, the estate manager, was standing in the entrance, waiting for him to park at the base of the cathedral stairs.
“Master Hemdeep,” he said with a toothy smile. “Long time, long time.”
“Bikram Chacha, your English keeps getting better and better.”
“I practicing,” he said with pride. “Your mom inside. Your dad, upstairs. I see you soon.”
“Thanks, Chacha.”
Hem slapped him on the shoulder before he kicked off his shoes in the grand foyer. He walked past the dual staircase with curved mahogany banisters, through the great hall, and into the kitchen. His mother stood in front of the oven, humming along with the Punjabi folk songs playing softly in the wall speakers, and the smell of melting ghee and the soft sizzle of stuffed bread on a hot griddle filled the air.
“Muma,” he said.
His mother turned, her face marked by the faintest lines of age, brightened with joy. Hem rounded the island and touched her feet, accepting the blessings she always gave him, even when she was mad. Then he snatched her up and spun her in circles like he’d done every time he came to visit her.
“Oy, bewakoof!” she smacked him on the shoulder, even as she laughed and her long black braid whipped around. “My puttar,” she said when he finally dropped her to her feet. Her eyes glowed with unshed tears and Hem leaned down so that she could cup his face in her hands.
“Missed you, Muma.”
“Of course you did,” she said. “My idiot son with his pride. Can’t even come home regularly to say hello to his mother.”
“But I didn’t go a day without thinking of you, so that has to count for something.”
She sniffled and waved a hand in the air as if she was swatting a fly. “Tu rehnde. I don’t believe your pretty words.”
God, she was such a strong woman. She supported her husband when he’d had nothing to his name but a dream and raised a
family with an iron fist. Hem lifted her hands and pressed them against his cheeks. Coconut oil and talcum powder. He was home, and it was both joyous and painful.
“Eat and drink some masala chai, Hemdeep,” she said in Punjabi. “Then go see your father upstairs.”
Hem sat at the island and watched as she picked up a parantha and slid it onto his plate. She added mango pickle, a tab of fresh butter, and two heaps of homemade dahi. The yogurt was tart and cool, the mango pickle fragrant and tangy. The silver kara he wore on his left wrist clinked against the plate as he tore a piece of the bread and felt the flavors explode in his mouth.
He looked up to see her watching him, holding a teacup that matched the one sitting at his elbow. “Mom? How’s Dad doing?”
“His heart is broken,” she said quietly.
“Is that what the doctor said? Because if he needs a stent or open-heart surgery, I know a few great specialists that can help.”
His mother shot him a look before she turned and rolled out the dough for the second parantha. “My oldest baby. So responsible and so literal all the time. No, he has the depression. He feels the shame of losing all he’s worked for before it passed to you.”
“To Ajay, you mean.”
She sighed. “To all of you, Hem.”
He nodded. “Are you worried about the company?”
“I worry about our . . . reputation. Bharat was our first success. It’s our legacy. All the other businesses mean nothing if we cannot keep Bharat.”
“What? Why?”
She shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder as she flipped the parantha. “One a lawyer, one an accountant, and one a software engineer. All of you are executives and among the three of you, no one can figure out why family, legacy, honor, and tradition are the most important parts of your life. Maybe it’s because none of you are married and all three in your thirties. Bharat goes, then we’ll truly lose respect for any family success.”
