I'm a Master in India

"Counterfeit money?" Ron was shocked.

"That's right, the back seat of the car was piled high, four lakh in total." Ashish gesticulated wildly.

"What exactly is going on?" Ron stood up.

"Those two guys drove hundreds of kilometers from Rajasthan," Ashish led Ron downstairs, explaining as they walked.

Like most dealers in the building, the two who were caught had come to Sur Electrical Appliances to place orders.

What was particularly unusual was that while everyone else paid their deposits through the banking system, they insisted on paying cash.

Harush, who worked in finance, kept a close eye and checked the amount very carefully when verifying it.

After all, this operation was too abnormal, and a 1.2 million rupee order was also quite large. This was only the initial one-third deposit, so he had to be careful.

Sure enough, Harush quickly found something was wrong. The patterns on some of the banknotes were badly distorted.

He didn't need a counterfeit money detector; the experienced old accountant could tell with the naked eye.

The rest was simple. Harush shouted, and everyone in the office rushed over, grabbing the two men and pinning them to the ground.

"One young man was very fierce; he injured our people. He wanted to escape, but there was no way, we have over four hundred people!"

Ashish brought Ron to an office downstairs, which was crowded with people. Some were dealers watching the spectacle, others were aggressive employees of Sur Electrical Appliances.

Everyone surrounded the two men from Rajasthan, occasionally stepping up to slap them or kick them.

They looked very disheveled. The fat middle-aged man's suit had been ripped off, and his white shirt was covered in footprints. He kept begging for mercy, but no one paid attention.

The thin young man didn't say a word. There was blood on the corner of his mouth, and a piece of his hair had been pulled out.

Seeing Ron come over, everyone made way.

"Ron," Harush stepped forward, "those four lakh are all counterfeit."

"Did we have anyone injured?" He looked around.

"It was Rashid and Amit." Ashish pulled over two young men.

They each had a cut on their arm and palm, as if caused by some sharp object.

"Ron Baba." The two young men smiled sheepishly.

"Don't be so impulsive in the future." Ron smacked the back of their heads irritably.

He knew these two; they were old-timers who had come with Anand, formerly living in Taj Ali's slum.

Of course, they were Ron's men now, and they had that awareness. When that man from Rajasthan pulled out a knife, only they dared to step forward and fight.

Ron waved for someone to take Rashid and Amit away to get bandaged, and then he had time to carefully examine the two culprits.

The fat middle-aged man was crestfallen, the thin young man...

Hmm? There was something off about his eyes.

"Do you know me?" Ron asked.

He smiled contemptuously and didn't speak.

Ashish went up and slapped him twice, but it still didn't work.

"Take them to the police station." Ron couldn't be bothered to waste words with them.

Because it involved counterfeit money, he personally made a trip to Ajay's office.

"Did they say anything?" Ajay asked.

"Wouldn't say anything." Ron shrugged.

"Let's go, let's take a look at them." Ajay brought Ron to a room.

There was only a table and a small sofa here, and the two prisoners were tied up and squatting there.

The interrogation began almost immediately, with a police officer wielding a truncheon.

"Who gave you the money? Speak!"

"I don't know, sir." The fat middle-aged man stammered.

He was hit hard in the face, and his jaw immediately swelled up. The police were very heavy-handed, and the middle-aged man couldn't take it.

He said he was a businessman, and the tall thin man next to him was his cousin, who had driven the whole way.

Another policeman came in, taking out bundles of brand new green counterfeit money from a bag. They were all 500 rupee denominations, totaling over 400,000, and they were placed on Ajay's desk.

"Who gave you the money?" The fat man's face was hit a few more times.

"I don't know, sir. Someone called me and told me to pick up the money. Then go to the Sur Electrical Appliance factory to order goods. I don't understand anything."

"These two fools think this is a courtroom," Ajay instructed a policeman, "Get the wires and a whip."

When the officer returned, he was holding a thick leather whip, about a palm's width, with a wooden handle at one end.

Another officer took the whip and struck the fat man hard across the face. The sound of leather hitting flesh was hard to describe unless Ron had heard it himself.

The fat man screamed, and the officer whipped him again. At the same time, the tall thin man was elbowed by a third officer and fell heavily to the ground.

Fists, belts, and whips rained down on their faces and backs. They had to curl up their bodies, lowering their heads, dodging left and right.

The whips across the fat man's face were the most painful. He was almost bent into the shape of a shrimp, trying to avoid the merciless whip.

There was a blood-red mark on the tall thin man's forehead. If you didn't look closely, you might think it was the vermilion dot from a temple.

This kind of beating-like interrogation made Ron's skin crawl. Indian police are really f*cking ruthless.

Ajay usually spoke with great demeanor, looking like someone from the upper class, but he didn't expect him to have such a brutal side during interrogation.

The fat man finally became a little more honest. He confessed that a young mistress in Punjab had put him in touch with the counterfeit money dealers.

The money was brought by the tall thin man next to him. They had arrived in Mumbai a week earlier, seemingly with another mission.

"What other purpose did you have coming to Mumbai?" A fat policeman demanded.

"That's not important." The tall thin man protested.

The fat policeman slapped him across the face with a belt again, "Speak!"

"I have relatives who fled from India to Pakistan during the partition. I came to Mumbai this time to fulfill a vow for him at a temple."

The fat policeman looked eagerly at Ajay, as if expecting to be rewarded for obtaining the crucial information that the suspect's 'heart was in Pakistan while his body was in India'.

Ajay, however, was unmoved. This was not important intelligence at all.

If judged by this standard, the millions who fled between the two countries would all be traitors.

"Take them to the interrogation room and electrocute their lower parts first." Ajay then turned to the fat man, "From now on, you and your little mistress probably won't be able to have fun."

Hearing this, the terrified fat man finally gave in. He said he had previously received 450,000 counterfeit rupees from a Pakistani intermediary and paid the other party 100,000 in real cash.

That intermediary promised that as long as he could get air coolers from Sur Electrical Appliances, they would pay him an additional 1.5 million counterfeit rupees at market price.

Ron, who was watching the drama unfold next to him, was stunned. How the hell did this loop back to Sur Electrical Appliances again?

Without Ajay needing to ask further, the fat man explained the reason in detail.

It turned out the advertisement was still to blame. India and Pakistan are very close, and many people on the other side regularly watch All India Television.

After the Sur Electrical Appliances advertisement aired, wealthy people in Pakistan were very interested. Because most of their country is landlocked, the climate is dry, and there are deserts.

Air coolers were simply a perfect match for this kind of climate. However, there are no trade channels between Pakistan and India, so they couldn't get the goods.

Thus, these two traveled thousands of miles to Mumbai to get the goods, all for the sake of being middlemen.

Everyone else showed a look of understanding, only Ron became more and more confused the more he listened.

His CPU was almost fried by these two 'Three Brothers'.

The intermediary gave the fat man 450,000 counterfeit rupees, and the fat man paid 100,000 real rupees?!

After risking his life over a thousand miles, shipping the goods from Sur Electrical Appliances back, and then paying another 1.5 million counterfeit rupees?!

What was he getting out of this?!!

"This is an old trick of Pakistan." Ajay seemed to see Ron's confusion.

He explained that the reason counterfeit money often appears in India is because Pakistan is behind it.

Their goal is to circulate a large amount of counterfeit money in India to disrupt India's economic development.

And Mumbai, as the country's financial center, is naturally the primary target.

"But this person didn't tell the truth," Ajay pointed at the tall thin man, "He has accomplices in Mumbai."

After digging out a few more pieces of information from the fat man and cross-referencing them, the tall thin man finally confessed everything.

His other purpose for coming to Mumbai was to kidnap Ron!

What the hell? Ron was numb. Just now it was Sur Electrical Appliances, this time it directly became him personally.

"Why kidnap?"

"To get money."

"Who are the accomplices?"

"A few Biharis..."

Until the interrogation ended, Ron hadn't fully grasped the situation.

"You should hire some bodyguards." Ajay brought Ron back to his office.

"I'm a little confused," Ron frowned, "Although I'm not a gang member, with the Shiv Sena's order and Hadkhan's connections, no one in Mumbai should deliberately cause me trouble."

"People with foresight certainly wouldn't, but what about those country bumpkins who don't understand anything?" Ajay explained to him what a reckless person is.

For example, those workers who stay in the factory and live in darkness. Old acquaintances from the same village who have joined gangs will take them to beer bars to 'open their eyes'.

There, they will see how their old acquaintances spend lavishly on dancers. They will also see dancers come up to their old acquaintances, touch them, flirt with them, and agree to go out for the night.

For those migrant workers from the countryside, the dancers at beer bars are like Bollywood movie stars.

They will think, this old acquaintance of mine only came to the city half a year before me, how can he be doing so well, wearing gold and silver and driving a car?

Once they have this question, it is naturally easy for gangs to recruit them.

You put a loaded gun in the hands of these migrant workers and tell them that as long as they walk up to the target person, pull the trigger, and then turn around and run, they will get money. You see if they will do it or not.

The tall thin man just now used the same trick to lure a few young people from Bihar.

As long as they kidnapped Ron, he would give them 200 rupees each.

The price was so low that Ron felt it was an insult; they really didn't treat people as valuable at all.

"Those people are already driven mad by poverty, they don't care about anything." Ajay explained.

The cheapest contract killing he had seen in Mumbai had a commission of fifty rupees.

A sixteen-year-old scavenger helped a man kill his love rival.

The teenager smashed the victim's head with a stone, then moved his body to the garbage dump. There, the scavenger spent two hours dismembering the body and then scattered the body parts throughout the dump one by one.

The teenager needed those fifty rupees to buy a few sacks to cover the roof of his shack so that his home wouldn't flood during the rainy season a month later.

Fifty rupees, one life.

This wouldn't even buy a cup of coffee in a high-end hotel in Mumbai.

Don't expect them to know what the law is, and don't expect them to feel fear, it's useless.

"I've already sent people to catch those accomplices. I'll arrange a few people to take you back later."

Damn it, after a trip to the police station, Ron felt less safe instead.

It seems that security definitely needs to be arranged. He needs to select a few reliable people from those around him.