Privilege: A Trilogy

By Bharat Krishnan

In this epic saga about privilege and power, Rakshan Baliga will have to choose between the American Dream... and his own.

New York’s drug problem is Rakshan's solution. Getting his hands on a super drug called WP could earn him glory, power, and a chance to win back his ex. But stealing it from the Top 1% is costly, and if Rakshan isn’t careful he’ll pay with his life.

Discover how Rakshan’s journey sets off a chain of events that changes his city, his country... and the world. This OwnVoices political thriller is perfect for fans of Ocean’s 11 and House of Cards.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indies United Publishing House, LLC
• Release date: Mar 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781644562451

Bharat Krishnan

Bharat calls himself a professional storyteller and amateur cook. After 10 years of working in politics, he tried to explain how the country went from Barack Obama to Donald Trump by writing Confessions of a Campaign Manager. Then he wrote Oasis, a desert-fantasy novel that examined what makes a family and how refugees should be treated. Bharat is always looking to make a political statement with his writing because he knows politics seeps into every aspect of society and believes we can’t understand each other without a firm, constant understanding of how politics affects us in all ways.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

This book is more personal to me than my memoir. The gratitude I feel towards the women (for they were all women) who made it the best product possible is beyond words, but I’ll do my best to convey it here.

Monali Krishnan: This book, like any book I’ve written and will ever write, wouldn’t be possible without the love of my life, Monali. Her patience as I got up Saturday and Sunday mornings to write, as I delayed weeknight dinners to edit, as I forced her to read through the first drafts as my alpha reader, means the world to me.

Shaylin Gandhi: My fantastic editor who knew exactly how to push me to get the best writing possible out of me. I am so excited to continue to learn alongside you in the many projects to come.

Amrita Raja: She did the cover for Oasis, and she’s doing the covers for this entire trilogy. It’s very difficult to get inside another person’s head, but Amrita has a knack for knowing exactly what I’m looking for before even I do.

Stuthi Iyer: My devoted beta reader who’s wise beyond her years. Her excitement for the project got me through some of the toughest times I had during this whole endeavor.

To the mom and four sisters who taught me that vulnerability is strength and kindness is the great equalizer: thank you.

And finally, to the aunties: There are so many of you that to list them all would be ridiculous. They were my second moms who raised me to believe that strong women will save the world.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

BOOK ONE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

BOOK TWO

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

BOOK THREE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Afterword

For anyone who’s ever been embarrassed to bring food from their native country to school.

Apna time aayega

Hindi translation: Our time will come

Chapter One

Aditya Shetty inhaled deeply as he kicked off his Bolvaint loafers and rolled up the sleeves of his blue Oxford shirt. The windows of his penthouse stood open and Union Square was alive with the sound of street musicians and the smell of New York. It was the smell of sewers that swallowed the dreams of men whole. The odors of waste wafted up from the city’s manholes to blend with the smell of cheese bubbling in ovens at pizzerias across its five boroughs, bringing together an unavoidable marriage of the heavenly and the putrid. Aditya took it all in.

Though September had begun, Mother Nature was still stuck in summer, as evidenced by the tangible smell of humid air. Aditya’s fingers thrummed on his counter to the beat of trumpets and violins outside, a mix of cultures one could only find in the capital of the world. Opening a drawer his interior decorator had fallen in love with, Aditya retrieved a plastic bag and carefully poured its contents onto the marble countertop. This was the good stuff, straight from Guatemala and cut with caffeine to give it a purity level above fifty percent. Using his credit card to separate out what looked like ten milligrams, he spooned it up and set it on a digital scale to confirm the dosage. He’d only been using for a few months, but was smart enough to know a person should always triple-check. Satisfied, he bent down, inhaled, closed his eyes, and let the drug transport him to a new world.

Though Union Square was eleven floors below, conversations floated up to Aditya’s ears like balloons. He heard everything—from the sweet nothings of a man whispering in his lover’s ear to a street musician riffing to the tune of La Bamba. The sun would rise in less than six hours, but for now everyone could be their true selves under the calming presence of darkness. Opening his eyes, Aditya heard the whispers of the wind speak to him. It was the wind that told a lion to tackle a gazelle, and it was the wind that now compelled him to run out to his balcony. Jumping higher than any man his height should be able, he did a flip and landed right on a table he used to entertain outside. The wood snapped under his weight and he would have fallen on his side if not for his heightened alertness.

Oh well. He didn’t care about money right now, not when the world made sense to him for the first time.

How did we live so long without this stuff? No wonder the government doesn’t hand this out like candy.

Aditya wanted to tell his mom, his dad, but no one could ever understand what he was going through. He would never share the drug known as WP with anyone. Yes, he pulled in an annual salary in the seven figures running his hedge fund, Adrsta, in Bryant Park, but he only got a taste of real power after midnight most days. Not only could he hear his neighbors sleeping three floors above, not only could he smell the onions and parathas below as a street vendor made kati rolls, but he could also hear the tempo of the city. It beat in his ears like a tabla, calm but persistent. If something was off, if a silent intruder mugged his doorman or somehow made their way into his apartment, Aditya would sense it. The beat of the tabla would alert him long before the hairs on his back could.

Yes—WP was a hell of a drug.

Aditya moved to his bedroom, but sleep wasn’t on his mind. Though it was a Tuesday and he had a big pitch tomorrow, how could he care about anything but the power coursing through his fingers? How could anyone walk away from this type of raw energy?

I need more. Investing in the Medulla account would propel Adrsta to the next level. It would also mean more WP for Aditya, since start-up companies founded by Caucasians frequently offered up the drug to investors in lieu of more equity. As the drug was almost impossible for non-Caucasians to acquire legally, it was a much more attractive option for someone like him.

Taking WP the night before the meeting was risky, but Aditya knew the boost to his senses would be worth it. He’d spent months snorting the drug weekly, hoping it would stay in his system beyond his next bathroom break. So far, no luck. Still, there was always tomorrow. If he was a little late because of the WP—well, Rakshan would keep the Medulla brothers happy if he knew what was good for him. And if not? Aditya had been thinking about canning the man-boy, anyway. His initial thoughts of grooming Rakshan faded with each day. In Rakshan’s year at Adrsta, he’d never signed a client all on his own. The kid had hustle and a sense of humor that delighted clients, but also a girlfriend and childhood friends who still lived in the city.

What a waste. Such things slowed a man down.

Licking his lips, Aditya slipped into the king-sized sleigh bed in his bedroom and grabbed a book from his side table: A Dark Moon Rises: WP and the Vietnam War. It was an old book from the ‘80s, written for conspiracy theorists and published anonymously, but it had some key insights about WP and Aditya absorbed any information about the drug like a sponge. Though many claimed to know the drug’s full powers, the government most of all, Aditya doubted anyone really understood what the drug was capable of, what it enabled. How could anyone truly say they understood privilege and power? Because that was what the drug stood for above all else.

The book’s author claimed to be a West Point grad who’d fought the Vietcong and seen the Johnson administration test-drive a new campaign to distribute WP to American allies. In the decades since the book’s publication, no one had found any record of anyone resembling the author’s description in either West Point’s or the government’s records. He was informed, though, that was apparent. The author knew about key battles and negotiations and the whole cast of characters involved in that godforsaken affair. But claiming the U.S. government had given WP to the South Vietnamese? And that those savages had then, in turn, distributed the drug to African-American soldiers? That the drug had addled their untrained brains and led to such epic blunders as the My Lai Massacre? That was insane.

Personally, Aditya wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that someone within the government had written the book under President Reagan’s orders. The 1965 Civil Rights Act had infamously left out any mention of expanding WP access to non-Caucasians, and it’d left a bitter taste in the mouth of Democratic leaders on Capitol Hill. With the Drug War in full swing and people like Pablo Escobar and Whitey Bulger in the public’s lexicon, blaming Black people for a war crime committed during an unpopular war seemed like a convenient way to convince Democrats it wasn’t worth their time to keep fighting for WP distribution rights to be expanded. That, and losing forty-nine states to President Nixon, had scared them out of ever mentioning it again. It was only now, almost fifty years later, that Democrats were willing to fight over the issue again.

Not that it’ll matter, Aditya thought. The house always wins. Legalization would never happen, no matter what Congress said. If WP was legal for minorities, everyone would have it. And if everyone had it, it wasn’t special. Privilege and power, these were the keys to American success. Now, Aditya had both.

Putting the book down and telling Alexa to turn off the lights, he noticed a fly enter from an open window—thanks to the WP, Aditya saw every flap of its wings. Snatching it in mid-air, he snuffed the creature’s life out like it was nothing.

Chapter Two

Rakshan groaned and tried kicking his legs out from his bedsheets, only to twist them further as he struggled to wake up. His entire body seemed to fight against the weight of the day ahead. But if all went well, he’d have both a promotion and a fiancée by nightfall.

Mom and Dad will be proud.

He didn’t believe the words, but they crossed his mind at least once a week, anyway. It’d been months since he’d heard from either of his parents. With the engagement, he’d have an excuse to call them. Soon after he’d started his grad work at Princeton, they’d both moved away to California to retire.

Like Dad needed a reason to leave.

His mom had tried her best, but a mother couldn’t be a father, too. He’d heard her excuses his whole life, your father works so hard to provide for us. That didn’t justify his absence, though.

Moving from his bed to the closet next to his bathroom, Rakshan opened it to find an array of shirts, slacks, and suits. Crammed into a corner at the bottom was a half-filled wicker basket of letters from his parents. He’d given up writing them weekly when they’d made it clear they preferred quarterly.

Retired, but he still doesn’t have time for me.

No matter, though. Rakshan would have his perfect family after tonight.

Rakshan slapped himself before heading into the bathroom to shower. He needed to be in top form for this morning’s pitch to a new tech company Adrsta was looking to invest in. His boss had made it clear he wasn’t needed for the meeting, but since Famóre would be Adrsta’s largest investment, Rakshan knew that impressing the Medulla brothers could be his ticket to a promotion. In addition to being the founders of a new mobile app, the Medulla brothers were also immigrants.

We all speak the same language, Rakshan thought as he brushed his teeth before turning on his rainforest shower.

Cool water streamed down Rakshan’s body as if attacking him. His muscles tensed in response to the sudden drop in temperature, yet he welcomed the assault. The cold let him feel alive, present. He needed the icy water to shape his mind. It calmed him. Today was the most important day of his life. The deal mattered to him, more than he wanted to admit, but today, he would also propose to Sadiya. He was so nervous that the icy liquid running down his skin felt like sweat. He’d been too scared to ask for her parents’ blessing, but the chill of the water focused him. They’d be thrilled Sadiya was marrying another boy from Karnataka. Sure, Mom and Dad moved to New York before I was born, but we all hail from the motherland nonetheless, right?

Rakshan checked his watch as his elevator plunged down to the teeming metropolis that awaited below. It was about twenty minutes on the subway from his home in Chelsea to the office at One Bryant Park, but he had plenty of time. Rebelling against his father’s habits came second nature to him, and one of the clearest acts of rebellion he’d adopted was to defy the stereotype of Indian Standard Time (IST). To be late was to disrespect someone’s time, and time was the most valuable resource a person had.

Stepping out from the steel doors, Rakshan nodded to his doorman, Tyrone, as the man placed copies of the New York Times atop a granite counter.

Good morning, Mr. Baliga.

Good morning, Mr. James. Rakshan chuckled as he made his daily joke.

His doorman flashed a grin, but Rakshan was never sure if Tyrone was just going along with it or actually found the nickname funny. Saved from having to speak further with the doorman, Rakshan noticed an older gentleman he thought was named Philip tapping his leg impatiently at the counter.

Your taxi will be here soon, sir, Tyrone told Philip. Rakshan recognized the older man as another tenant, but they’d never spoken before.

Have a good day, he said to Tyrone before reaching for a copy of the New York Times. Just before Rakshan took the topmost paper, though, Philip reached out as well. His hand forced under the top copy, Rakshan suffered the smallest paper cut imaginable. He barely felt it.

Sorry, man, Rakshan said.

Glaring at him, Philip left for his taxi. Rakshan looked to Tyrone for some words of support, but the doorman only offered a shrug.

The moment Rakshan left his building, the smells of Middle Eastern food stalls and the sewers below assaulted him. The city reminded him of the Greek sirens who ensnared their victims with promises of beauty and pleasure. Scaffolding protected Rakshan from the maintenance crews working on the shops all around him. As he walked to the subway on Fourteenth Street, he smiled upon seeing a young mom in yoga pants pushing her baby in a stroller, then recognized that his grin might come off as creepy. Breaking his glance, he walked down the stairs to the station and took out his monthly pass to get on the M train.

God, he thought. A baby would round out his perfect family.

Rakshan couldn’t get a seat on the subway, but instead wrapped his arms around a metal pole and finally got to reading his paper.

CONGRESS PLANS FOR LANDMARK HEARINGS AS DEMOCRATS AIM TO FULFILL CAMPAIGN PROMISE

By Harold Mueller

After an historic election cycle last year that saw record numbers of women and minorities sent to Congress, the U.S. Senate is set to hear testimony in a series of hearings from experts and witnesses alike in an attempt to determine the full effects the government-sanctioned drug, WP, has on non-Caucasian users.

Of course, WP was first discovered during the California Gold Rush. It was treated to be as valuable as gold itself, but few could determine the drug’s effects with any consistency. Over the next decade, many reports emerged of people experiencing moments of super-strength, above-average intelligence, and even mind control.

After the Civil War, Congress banned the use of WP for non-Caucasians, with some theorizing the South would have won if not for the drug. Today, those same theorists, who think WP has the capacity to bend not only internal capabilities but external motivations, too, believe the #MeToo movement has emerged as a result of WP use by non-Caucasians. Waitresses, cleaning staff, janitors, and other minimum-wage service jobs are traditionally held by non-Caucasians, and some believe that as these people gain access to the drug, they’ve become more outspoken in exposing the sexual harassment that’s plagued these industries for years. A black market has always existed for WP, but new technologies make its use and the need for additional regulation more prevalent than ever.

The issue of jailing people of color over WP use became a hot topic during last year’s election cycle, and Democrats flipped control of the U.S. Senate, in part, by promising hearings on the issue of legalization. It is expected that Senator Joseph Begaye (D-NM) will set the tone and scope for any hearings as the chairman of the Subcommittee on Crime and Terrorism. With oversight of the DEA and U.S. Sentencing Commission in addition to playing a role in shaping any criminal justice legislation, the committee hearings are being viewed as a big win for Democrats and perhaps a ticket back to the White House.

This is not about politics, Senator Begaye said. This is personal for me. (continues on A5)

What a joke this debate is, Rakshan thought as he licked his finger to flip the page. It was only then that he noticed his paper cut, tasting the drying blood with his tongue.

My father worked his whole life trying to achieve the American Dream, Begaye continued. He couldn’t get there; it didn’t exist for him. One day I came home to find him sitting in a chair with white powder buried in his fingernails, a gunshot wound in his head, and a gun on the floor. We need to study WP to understand its full effects on minorities once and for all, and legalizing it in small quantities will allow us to get there. My father had a hole in his heart he thought drugs could fill. Maybe he was right and maybe he wasn’t, but I owe it to him to find the answer.

The answer is important, as more and more outrageous tales have been broadcast about the effects of WP on non-Caucasian users in recent years. Indeed, one Chinese student from Boston College claimed in a viral YouTube video that a friend of his was able to fly after taking the drug.

Though supporters of legalizing WP claim it would restore equity to the justice system, some scientists are skeptical and argue for more research before doing anything dramatic. Dr. Jocelyne Clark, a researcher at the Foundation for Actions against Injustice and Racism (FAIR), thinks legalization might actually harm minorities. My ancestors were taken from Africa, the same as so many other Blacks in America today, but legalization isn’t the solution for the inequalities plaguing us. WP is too unreliable. Sometimes non-Caucasian subjects gain the strength of a lion, but other times they gain the cunningness of a fox or the fortitude of an elephant. I even read of a case where people in a control group suffered memory loss when merely placed in physical proximity with people who’d taken WP for the first time. The Chinese boy from that viral video may actually believe he saw his friend flying because of what WP does to the hippocampus. We know far too little right now about its effects on different racial minorities. Mankind has had over a century to analyze how WP use by Caucasians affects non-Caucasians, but we’re just now starting to get actionable data on how people exposed to the drug for the first time interact with Caucasians. What’s needed now more than anything else is more funding to continue that research.

Efforts are underway to secure that funding, but it will take time and the hearings are not expected to commence for another few months. In the meantime, Americans on both sides of this divide remain hungry for action.

No shit Americans are hungry for action, Rakshan thought as he spotted an empty seat and took it. The train was only one station from his stop on Forty-Second Street. Closing his eyes, he remembered a story about a rival from high school who’d OD’ed on WP. The idiot had been white, blessed with the drug from birth, and yet he’d still bought some off the black market. Rakshan had heard through a friend of a friend that the guy had thought he needed an extra boost to help him get through USC’s film program. He’d fancied himself the next Spielberg until one day he jumped off a building in search of his creative integrity.

Rakshan balled up his fists in disgust. Opening his eyes, he remembered one of the few meaningful conversations he’d shared with his dad.

"Apna time aayega, Rakshan whispered under his breath. It meant our time will come." Whenever he’d complained about some kid picking on him or some teacher giving him a B when he deserved an A, his dad had comforted him with those words. His dad had meant that waiting was worth it, but Rakshan had learned the truth at Princeton. People had to seize opportunity, they had to grab it by the balls.

Until Democrats learn that, too, this incrementalism shit will never work. The hearings would be a farce.

The subway hissed to a stop. Rakshan left the newspaper on his seat as he got up, dried blood apparent on the edges of the faded paper. As he walked out, he saw a mariachi band walk on.

Good thing I’m leaving, he thought to himself. I hate foreign music...

Chapter Three

One would lose their breath upon taking the elevator at One Bryant Park up all fifty-five floors to Adrsta’s workspace. From there, it was possible to work out in the office gym while looking at the Statue of Liberty.

On most days, eight employees sat in leather chairs clacking at PCs with one hand while holding coffee (ground from a press, not a Keurig, thank you very much) with the other. On this day, though, everyone was already antsy enough without needing caffeine. The Medulla brothers would arrive at nine, and at 8:50, the boss still hadn’t checked in, not even to call ahead and say he’d be late.

Rakshan emerged from the building’s elevator to find Aditya’s assistant pacing furiously. The man pushed his glasses up every few seconds, only to find them sliding down again as beads of sweat ran down his face. Chad Lungford might’ve been dumber than the silver spoon his family name bought him, but apparently even he understood that the Medulla brothers wouldn’t react well to being told to wait.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost whiter than you, Chad, Rakshan said. Where’s Aditya?

Upon seeing Rakshan, the diminutive man snorted in derision. If I knew that, I wouldn’t be so flustered, now would I, Mr. Baliga?

Don’t worry, Rakshan said in a voice as sweet as gulab jamun. I can run the meeting if needed.

That won’t be necessary. Mr. Shetty was clear that only he is allowed to run the meeting.

Live in the moment, Chad. Rakshan exhaled sharply and smiled. Not up his ass.

Aditya’s assistant was spared from having to come up with a response when the phone at reception rang. Chad answered it on speaker, and Rakshan heard a guard inform him that two guests were coming up.

The Medulla brothers lived in Greenwich Village, but if anyone asked where they came from, they always said Arthur Avenue. Their grandparents had left Mussolini’s Italy for the Bronx in 1940 and never looked back, embracing a working-class lifestyle like so many other enterprising Americans of that era. Though they’d married young, they’d refused to start a family until their grocery store in Little Italy had met with some success. Fast-forward eighty-three years, and the Medulla family’s commitment to authentic food was still going strong. While the family wasn’t in the grocery business anymore, the Medulla brothers had developed a mobile app called Famóre, a clever blend of the words for family and love. Famóre brought families together by creating a platform where amateur cooks could crowdsource best practices while they pursued a knowledge of God only available through the consumption of the heartiest meals made with love. The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and the way to God was through an understanding of the heart. This wasn’t just about food, this was about the divine. Grandfather Medulla had told them the grocery business wasn’t for everyone and that was okay, but that whatever they did, they had to understand it was in service of God. That was the mission of every good Catholic child, and what brought the brothers to Adrsta today. After breakfast at Wafels and Dinges down the street, the two were ready to conclude weeks of negotiating in the pursuit of series C funding so that they could scale beyond the walls of New York City and Jersey. It was time to make Famóre a national name, but they needed twenty million dollars to do it.

Matteo Medulla cringed at hearing his brother, Gianpaolo, crack his fingers as a security guard swiped them through the optical turnstile of One Bryant Place. Smiling at the Black woman who left them after punching their room number into an elevator, he noticed his brother scowling as he tapped his right foot on the ground.

"She was cute, fratellone. After we sign this deal, you should invite her for some pizza."

Gianpaolo turned to his left and spat on the floor before replying. Nothing is signed yet. It’s bad luck to speak like that.

Matteo brushed his fingers along the sleeve of his brother’s gray Moschino suit. Though Matteo preferred tan, he’d never gotten his brother to fully embrace the lighter parts of life.

Perhaps I’ll get her number if we close, Gianpaolo said, relenting. Matteo saw the outline of a smile on his brother’s lower lip, as if it was an anchor and Matteo was homeport.

When the elevator doors opened to Adrsta, Chad greeted the brothers with a shakerato. The drink, an espresso with ice, paired especially well with a day as muggy as this one.

Just like the old country. Matteo laughed after taking a sip. Both brothers knew they hadn’t been to Italy in decades, but Chad didn’t, and they enjoyed making little jokes at another’s expense.

Chad joined in the laughter as he motioned for the two to sit in a conference room. Please, gentlemen, Mr. Shetty will be with you shortly. Let me know if there’s anything you need in the meantime.

Staring down at their iPhones, the two brothers didn’t bother looking up as Chad closed the transparent glass door and left them to return to his desk. Before making his way back, he grabbed a water from the mini fridge near the gym and drank half of it in one go.

What’s the plan now, genius? Rakshan said.

Didn’t you see them laugh? Things are going great.

It was 9:10 before Aditya got up. His head was busier than Bangalore traffic, and when he opened his eyes, the sun warmed his face like it meant to burn it off. Slapping himself awake, he noticed the wings from the fly he’d killed last night still stuck to his fingers. It wasn’t until he got up to throw water on his face that he remembered he had somewhere to be.

"Hattru!"

Grabbing a towel, he jumped into his waterfall shower and closed his eyes as hot water awakened sluggish joints. Stretching his fingers out, he brushed them against the white tile that covered the entire bathroom and smiled until revealing every tooth in his mouth. In his quest to use WP efficiently, he’d hired someone to redo his bathroom last month. It was a legal gray area, but now specks of the drug dotted every single tile, blending in with the white. It wasn’t much; just enough to give Aditya the surge of confidence that would help him close this deal. As he left the shower to throw on a white shirt and gray suit, he looked at a mirror and sighed as he combed his hair. He wondered if using enough WP could change his biological framework eventually; it would be nice to lose some of his flab.

Calling an Uber, he checked his watch—9:45. Aditya looked at the Ganesha in his apartment as he walked out the door. He prayed Rakshan was on top of his shit today.

Chad saw Gianpaolo’s sneer through the transparent walls of the conference room and heard him muttering something in Italian. The assistant bit a hangnail as he stood by his desk, craning his head to get a good view of Matteo reading from a magazine as he sat patiently.

It’s 9:36. Rakshan got up from his desk to join Chad. The markets are already open, man. Even if Aditya comes right now, he’s got other clients to take care of. I’m going in.

Rather than respond, the young assistant sighed as he took his glasses off and wiped them on his white shirt before sitting back down behind the front desk.

Gentlemen! Rakshan clapped his hands together loudly after swinging the door open. It swayed with a force that made Adrsta’s employees look up from their work. So sorry for the wait; I had to bounce some ideas off Mr. Shetty and he said to just go ahead and start. He’ll join us later.

The two brothers shared a knowing look as Rakshan joined them in a black swivel chair on the far side of the room.

My name is Rakshan Baliga and I’m a partner at Adrsta. Well, not officially, yet, but if all goes well.

Now it was Gianpaolo’s turn to smile, which made Rakshan’s pursed lips curl up in response.

Rakshan cleared his throat before continuing. In all seriousness, we’re so thrilled that you’ve come to Adrsta for funding. Everyone in this room knows standard American cooking is mediocre at best, so why not integrate our cultures into food? Italian and Indian businesses already account for tens of billions of dollars of industry in this country—a mobile app for crowdsourcing real food is a logical next step and is, clearly, lucrative beyond just New York City.

Gianpaolo rubbed a finger over the wide frame of his lips before turning to his brother to whisper in Italian.

As the brothers shared a smile, Rakshan leaned in. Finally, diversity is an asset in this country, huh?

Wishing he was back in his office coding, Matteo finally got out of his chair and spoke. Why don’t you tell us what interested you in Famóre, eh? He placed a hand on Rakshan’s shoulder in a gesture that could’ve signaled warmth if not for the fact that his brother had just whispered to him that they were being disrespected. Matteo couldn’t read social cues that well, but he hated being insulted and it was time to make this firm pay for their mistakes. Sending an errand boy to placate them—that’s what Gianpaolo had told him what was going on.

Well, he thought, let’s see how far the boy is willing to run.

Certainly, Rakshan said, getting up to join him. You know about Foodie Shares, and Feastly, and Food52. They’re great apps for amateurs looking to up their game, but what makes Famóre stand out is its niche market. Instead of letting customers just order a home-cooked meal or share a personal meal with a professional or connect users all across the world to a platform of exquisite food, why not really hone in on cuisines that we know are lucrative? Italian food is always a crowd-pleaser, so why not stick to that and really dig deep to show off the full array of options within the country? Just last year I was in Sardinia for a couple days. Man, the food there is so much better than from northern Italy in my opinion, but I didn’t even know the region existed before visiting. Famóre is a platform that can share deep knowledge while connecting amateurs at an intimate level, and that’s why I want to be a part of this.

Matteo bit his lower lip to hide a surprised smile. His brother had always been skeptical of these kinds of people, but maybe this kid knew what he was talking about, after all. As Rakshan went on, Matteo rolled up his sleeves to expose steel cufflinks in the shape of Italy. A white border traced the outline, and as he ran a finger over one of the links, he closed his eyes and sighed.

When their grandparents had first arrived, they’d been unable to find work and had been viewed as possible traitors during the war. The government hadn’t even given them WP, saying they weren’t really Caucasian. But policy had changed as the memories of war faded and the hands of power began to look more and more Italian.

Running a fingernail over the dried white powder he’d had attached to his cuff links, Matteo sucked some off his nail as Rakshan finished. Immediately, his senses flared like a spark igniting gasoline. He could hear the rapid beating of Rakshan’s heart and search through the man’s mind like it was a library. When he got to the section about Famóre, though, it was more like a dumpster. WP exposed truths and weaknesses for him to manipulate. This boy is speaking in nothing more than platitudes and buzzwords. This is our life’s work! He gritted his teeth upon realizing that Rakshan wasn’t a techie like him. He’s wasting my time.

Let’s talk tech. Matteo sat back in his chair. In the Old World, standing was a form of intimidation. Here in America, though, people thought sitting showed strength.

Um… Rakshan had not missed the fact that a grown man had just sucked on his fingernail during a meeting. …Sure.

He tried sitting down, but felt woozy as he realized he couldn’t join Matteo at his level. The room suddenly felt far too hot, but when he tried to grab Matteo’s shoulder for support he jumped back in surprise. Matteo was the source of the heat. Rakshan rubbed the back of his neck as his vision clouded.

Are you okay? Gianpaolo looked more bored than worried.

…I’m fine. Blinking rapidly, Rakshan saw what had affected him. WP. This asshole laced WP right into his suit! It was an illegal intimidation tactic the SEC wouldn’t hesitate to prosecute, if not for the fact that this man was now seen as worthy of wielding power, of having a leg up on mere mortals. The government had spent decades and hundreds of billions of dollars fighting a drug war, but where it really counted, it gave the most valuable drug out for free to anyone who had the right blood running through their veins.

Well, go on with it, then. Gianpaolo didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his voice.

Rakshan hemmed and hawed through his entire spiel. Adrsta is prepared to inject twenty million into Famóre over a five-year period. We’d expect that money to go towards salaries and building cloud infrastructure in multiple cities, although we’d work with you to determine which cities—

Yes, okay, fine, Matteo interrupted. What will you be bringing to the table besides the money? Would you want to bring in your own engineers? Do you have an opinion on how to run our subscription model? Or other ways to monetize? Do you see Famóre as an eventual part of the Internet of Things? PaaS? SaaS? IaaS?

Matteo might as well have been speaking in Italian as far as Rakshan could tell. First, Aditya had embarrassed him by forcing him to take this meeting. Then Chad had disrespected him. Chad! That four-eyed nerd makes a fifth of my salary but carries himself like an equal. Why? Just because the screws in the frames of his glasses have some WP in them?

When Aditya had hired him, Rakshan had asked for some WP of his own and the boss had said it would come eventually. That had been a year ago, and Rakshan was getting impatient. After all, there were only two ways to get WP—as a gift from the government at birth, or as part of a legitimate business transaction. During negotiations, the Medulla brothers might offer up some of their WP for more generous funding terms. Aditya had gotten his first taste of WP that way, when he’d staged a hostile takeover of Adrsta. That hadn’t always been the company’s name, but after Rakshan’s boss had taken over he’d made sure no one even remembered its old identity.

These men. Rakshan’s nails cut through expensive fabric as he scratched at his legs through his pants. They think WP makes them better than the rest of us.

Matteo narrowed his eyes, which only worsened Rakshan’s sudden perspiration problem. It was as if the man could sense his anxiety.

Matteo leaned in. Do you even know what we’re talking about, man?

Of course I do! I’m not an idiot! Rakshan snapped. Beyond the glass walls of the conference room, the office froze. When the barrage of questions had started, Chad had tried walking by to ask if anyone wanted more coffee. Rakshan saw him hovering just outside the door now; Gianpaolo flashed his teeth at the assistant like a crocodile.

No one is calling you an idiot, my friend, but this meeting is over. Gianpaolo rose and moved to the door, opening it for his brother. It is clear that we cannot do business with someone who lacks both the temperament and the technical know-how to appreciate our vision.

As the two brothers filed past Chad without looking at him, Rakshan tried to stop them, but his shoes stuck to the floor. After what felt like ages, he managed to run to the front door in time to see Aditya open his mouth in wonderment as the two brothers met him at the elevator.

It’s just past ten, Mr. Shetty. Gianpaolo stated it as a mere fact while Matteo stepped into the elevator and pressed a button to hold the doors open.

Please excuse my lateness, Mr. Medulla. Aditya tried grabbing Matteo’s sleeve, but was blocked by his brother. I was feeling under the weather.

Aditya addressed Matteo through his brother’s arms, and, as if to drive home his point, he removed a white handkerchief from his tailored pants and used it to dab at his nose. I had thought my associate could get things started until I arrived, but obviously he was not up to the task.

For the first time, Rakshan saw Aditya acknowledge him, and wished he hadn’t.

Perhaps you are not yourself today, Gianpaolo said as he pushed Aditya away while backing into the elevator to join his brother. At any rate, we do not wish to do business with an organization like yours. Do feel better.

With that, the elevator plunged down to the ground, along with Aditya’s chances of gaining more WP. For a moment, the office watched Aditya’s back as he rubbed at his left arm. Then the man turned around and shot Rakshan the glare of a cobra.

Clean out your desk. He stormed into the office and took a coffee from Chad without acknowledging the young man.

Rakshan trembled. Aditya…

"It’s Mr. Shetty, muttaala!"

When Rakshan did not respond immediately, Aditya’s verbal abuse escalated. Oh, that’s right, you don’t even speak Kannada. Ashamed of where you came from? Here, let me help you—I called you an idiot!

By this point, the rest of the office had stopped pretending to work. All eyes followed Aditya, who had cornered Rakshan at his desk like a lion cornering a gazelle. Is this your girlfriend? He jabbed harshly at a framed picture of Sadiya draped in red and gold, a day planner at her side. We took so many photos that day and yet she insisted on holding onto her planner in each one.

Aditya’s shouts ripped Rakshan from his thoughts. Sleeping with our own kind but can’t bother to learn the language?

That’s enough! Eager to defend his woman, Rakshan found his voice. You’re not worthy of speaking about Sadiya! I should have left soon after joining; nothing is worth this abuse. I could probably make more money as a gambler, anyways!

Aditya clutched his stomach and laughed. "Better be smart, gaandu. I’ll let you look that word up yourself. Suffice to say, my friends at the SEC and IRS will be keeping their eyes on you."

Rakshan closed his eyes and balled up his hands.

Go on, Aditya encouraged him.

In the next moment, though, Rakshan relaxed his hands and threw his things into the box Chad had enthusiastically placed on his desk.

That’s what I thought. No brains and no balls, either.

As Rakshan opened his drawers to find one last personal object to take with him, Aditya raised his voice to his other employees. Show’s over! Go make me more money!

Engrossed in his own world, he didn’t seem to notice as Rakshan slipped an engagement ring into his pocket before picking up his box and leaving the building.

Chapter Four

Rakshan undid his tie and threw it to a homeless man in Bryant Park before calling a Lyft to take him home. After exiting the car in front of his apartment in Chelsea, he ordered a hot dog from a street vendor and ate it before going up to his place. A fourth-floor two-bedroom on Nineteenth Street was nothing to scoff at, he told himself. He would be just fine; this was why people opened savings accounts, not to mention investment accounts. He had enough capital to support himself for a few months while he decided what to do next. Putting his box down on the glass table near his front door, he retrieved the ring he’d bought for Sadiya from his pocket.

You can do this, he told himself.

As he put the ring in the box it’d come in, he admired the sapphires that encircled the main diamond. He smiled, thinking about the last three years with her. She’d been with him since he’d graduated from Princeton. It had taken awhile to get there (his father had insisted he do his undergrad at CUNY where the family could keep an eye on him), but things were finally turning around. In fact, getting fired was a good thing. He’d have more time to pursue his real passions.

Fuck the system; fuck making old white men richer.

Rakshan would have the whole gang over this weekend for an engagement party. He smiled thinking of Abhinav Iyengar, his best friend. Sure, Abhinav was a bit geeky and could afford to lose a few pounds, but he had a good heart. Ravi Gandhika had just moved back after a few years in DC; it’d be so good to see him. Krish Ramaswamy would come, too, that gentle giant with an accent as thick as rasgulla. And Ash Nayaker, whose coolness radiated enough warmth to protect anyone nearby.

His boys would be able to center him. Who knew? Maybe they’d even want to go into business with him. Though they worked in different industries, Rakshan knew they shared his viewpoint: they weren’t going to spend their lives working for The Man unless it ended with getting some government-sanctioned WP.

He smirked as he remembered what had infuriated his father to the point of making him attend CUNY. He and his boys had tried to steal some cologne their sophomore year of high school, but not just any cologne. This stuff was handed out by the principal each year to a number of top-performing students, and the scent was literally composed of some ground-up WP. There were other ingredients, sure, but the WP was why everyone worked so hard to distinguish themselves. Rakshan had actually gotten his hands on one of the eight bottles, but a janitor had caught him walking out with it and his dad had just barely managed to save him from expulsion.

Though they hadn’t had the same classes, Rakshan had run into Sadiya during his final year at Princeton. She’d been so different, an Indian pursuing a Master’s in architecture. She’d kept him wanting for months, but eventually his courtship had paid off.

Hey babe. Still okay with Indian for dinner?

They texted each other at all hours of the day, but her busy schedule meant his messages routinely went unanswered for hours. She’d been hired by one of the top architecture firms in the world, BKMP, right out of grad school, doing work that put her on the road a lot. It wasn’t all bad, though—they’d visited Dubai on one of her work trips. He smiled as he remembered kissing Sadiya on the observatory deck of the Burj Khalifa, almost two thousand feet in the air.

Rakshan jumped in the shower again while he waited for Sadiya’s response to his text; a second shower was an indulgence he needed right now. He started the water off hot, but the experience reminded him too much of how he’d felt around Matteo Medulla and he soon turned the faucet to cold. That man. He told people he was the grandson of immigrants. In early meetings he had even told Aditya that he understood the shame of discrimination.

What bullshit. Matteo’s grandparents might have understood, but he and his brother never could. They think they aren’t a part of the problem because they were poor once, a long time ago?

Rakshan switched the faucet back all the way to hot. He would embrace his rage and learn to live as the others did. One way or another, he would get his hands on WP.

Leaving the bathroom, Rakshan threw on a collared shirt before checking his phone.

That sounds divine. Love you, babe! 7 still works for me.

See you then, he responded.

He opened the ring box and took the ring out again to appreciate it. After buying it, he had flown with it to India, where he’d managed to spend a quarter of his salary on a bit of an upgrade—the underside of the band had flecks of WP in it. There was no way an American store would have let him buy it for even $100,000, but jewelers in the motherland were less scrupulous. As much as he craved to know the feeling of WP, though, he would never wear this ring. It was for his love, and his love alone. Bringing the ring to his nose, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He would appreciate it, but he couldn’t fathom its real power yet.

Before Sadiya arrived at the restaurant, Rakshan made sure their table was ready. He ordered plates of gobi manchurian and samosa chaat so she wouldn’t feel rushed to order an entrée. He’d bought a rose and asked the waitress to place it in a vase at their table and had also taken the extra step of turning his phone off, ensuring his focus would be completely undivided. When she walked in, he felt the need to stand in appreciation. Rakshan couldn’t believe she’d only left India to come here for school. Far from appearing like she was fresh off a boat, like any other FOAB, she’d all but eliminated her Indian accent.

Sadiya loved sun dresses and her nose twitched when she was skeptical about something and her mind ran faster than her mouth.

Someone that free-spirited and fun couldn’t survive in India, he thought.

Sadiya entered the restaurant wearing a teal green skater dress and matching summer wedges. She held a Trapper Keeper close to her chest as she arrived, checking something off with a red pen that Rakshan guessed said meet Rakshan for dinner. Placing the brightly-colored day planner in her bag, she walked towards him and he saw a book in her bag as well. Her hips swayed as she seated herself, and even though she was just five foot one, she had the spiritual presence to capture their waitress’s attention immediately to come and take their drink orders.

What are you reading? He leaned over to hug her, but nothing more.

She never kissed him in public, but under the table she rubbed her shoe against his as she put in her order for a mango lassi. "It’s called The Price of Salt; it’s amazing! Her smile was infectious, and all of Rakshan’s anger about the day melted upon seeing it. It’s pretty old, but Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara just did a movie of it."

Cool. How was your day? Rakshan ordered a bourbon and Coke and then sent the waitress away, answering his own question before waiting for Sadiya’s response. For me, I think when my story is written, it just might go down as the best day of my whole life.

Oh, really? She reached across the table and brushed her fingers across his arm hair. You’re in a good mood.

"I’m always in a good mood when