Free The Incredible Banker by Ravi Subramanian

and began watching the replay of the historic India vs Australia test match played at Eden Gardens in 2001. Rahul Dravid and VVS Laxman were launching an attack on the Aussies on the fourth day, and Anil was a huge Dravid fan. As he was sinking into his red automatic recliner, which Rimi had got for him on his thirty-sixth birthday, he remembered something and got up instantly. He walked out of the TV room. Ten steps and two doors later, he was in his bedroom standing by his cherry-hued study table. His eyes scanned the table but couldn't find what he was looking for. He looked around the room and still couldn't find it. Unfazed, he walked into the living room and looked around in vain. He returned to his bedroom, picked up the cordless phone and dialled a number.
    A feeble, muzzled noise could be heard from the other room. He walked in the direction of the noise. It was emanating from the vicinity of Dhruv's room. He walked towards the room, cordless in hand. The sound was getting closer. It seemed to be coming from Dhruv's cupboard. Opening the door of the cupboard, he moved around some of Dhruv's clothes and there it was. Dhruv had carefully hidden away his mobile phone, obviously worried that a call would take Anil away from him. He turned to look back at Dhruv, smiled affectionately, walked up to him to give him a peck on his cheek and quietly walked out of the room.
    On his way out, as he stretched his left hand to switch off the light in Dhruv's room, he glanced down at the large screen of his mobile phone – six missed calls and eleven unread messages were waiting for him.
    Walking back to the confines of his room, he checked the calls he had missed. Two were from Rimi. Manageable. She would understand why he did not pick her calls. If it was urgent, she would have called on the landline or spoken to his parents. One was from Jacqueline, his secretary at work. 'She will call back if it's anything urgent; it is too late to return her call, ' he muttered to himself. One was from an unknown number and the other two were from Karan, his boss. He suddenly perked up. Why was Karan calling on a weekend? He normally did not disturb his colleagues on a holiday. But that day there were two calls from him. It had to be urgent. Thankfully the two calls were in the last thirty minutes. He pressed the dial button and lifted the phone to his ear. When he disconnected after five minutes, he was a relieved man. Karan just wanted some information for an early morning meeting the next day. He then went to his inbox to look at the unread messages.
    The moment he opened his inbox, he let out a moan. 'What the hell is this? Nine promotional messages. Will the National Do Not Call (NDNC) list ever work?' He had dutifully registered for the NDNC Registry over a year back and despite that got at least eight to ten promotional messages on his mobile everyday. As he was about to keep his phone down, his eyes rolled over to a nondescript message from someone he knew very well. He was quite surprised because the person who had sent him the message was not someone who would usually engage with Anil and his team. He pressed the 'Open' button and the message was on his screen.
    Anil read the message once. He did not understand it. He first dismissed it as a prank. Then he read it again. And again. And slowly it sunk in. He slumped back on the sofa, which cushioned his fall. His heart was beating faster. His pulse raced. A few drops of sweat appeared on his forehead despite the chilling impact of the AC.
    Why was this sent to him? Had the sender really intended to send the message to him? Worse still, if he was not the intended recipient, who was the message intended for? What should he do? Should he share it with someone? Or should he keep quiet about it? He didn't know the answer. The phone loomed back into his line of sight. He read the message again:
    'We must plot some dirty, manipulative stuff on shitface. Savitha hates him, Gopal hates him. We