Page 108 of Born in Sin

Virat knocked and entered, without waiting for an invitation. Chandrashekhar looked at him and took in his muddy, disheveled state, his face blank and emotionless.

“Get out,” he said quietly.

“No.” Virat dragged the chair in front of the table out and sat down, not waiting for an invitation. “We need to talk terms.”

“You don’t have any cards to play here, Jha. This time, you’re in way over your head. You’re a child at war with adults.”

“You need a scapegoat.” Virat met his gaze. “Let it be me.”

“No.” Chandrashekhar looked away from him, dismissing him. “Your father will have my head.”

“Leave my father to me,” Virat answered, his voice grim with resolve. “It’s me. Not her. Deal?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Jha. Harvard is going to rescind its offer of admission if you get blacklisted from here. There will be no recommendations if you do this. And what then? This will follow you everywhere, every single second of your life.”

“This will follow me everywhere, every single second of my life regardless, Sir. Your scapegoat is me. Celina will be left completely out of this. Her name will not be mentioned even in passing. As far as the world is concerned, Celina was asleep, in her bed tonight.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Then I’ll take every single bit of information I’ve collected over the years at Crestwood and go to the press. I will burn this institution and its reputation to the ground and see that you go down in flames with it. And then I’ll take the ashes and rebuild Celina’s life with it.”

His Head of School stared at him, his eyes wide with shock.

“You need a scapegoat to keep their parents happy. It’s me. Deal?”

Chandrashekhar nodded, looking wary and frightened. “Deal.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

VIRAT

What have you done to her? What have you done to my daughter?

The monitor beside the stretcher suddenly screamed, erratic, jagged lines jumping across the screen. Alarms blared.

“She’s in V-fib!” the medic shouted. “No pulse!”

Virat’s blood turned to ice.

Amay shoved him aside and dropped to his knees, hands locking over Celi’s sternum. “Starting compressions!” he barked, his arms pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

“Charging to 200 joules,” the paramedic called, yanking the defibrillator closer. “O2 sat crashing. BP gone.”

Virat slammed against the side of the ambulance, eyes glued to her face, ashen, slack, her lips tinged blue.

“Clear!” Amay shouted.

Thump.Her body jerked.

“Still in V-fib—charging again. Let’s go.”

Thump.

“Nothing. One more.”

Thump.

Then he heard it. A beep. Then another. A slow, uneven rhythm limped across the screen.

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