One afternoon at the office, the studio's financial manager arrived at Anisa's cabin, carrying the company's old financial records as requested. Anisa needed to understand the exact sequence of events that had led to the business's decline. š
She motioned for the manager to sit and began poring over the files. The first quarter of 2022, when the studio launched, showed healthy, stable finances.
By the second quarter, however, a pattern emerged: regular, substantial withdrawals by Zayan for "personal use." The third quarter was similar. Then, in the fourth quarter, a new entry caught her eye: a major investment of one million dollars from an entity listed as Mrs. Singh, who now held a 23% stake in the private company. As the primary owner with 25%, Anisa held the controlling interest, but Mrs. Singh was now the second-largest stakeholder. The puzzle demanded an immediate solution. š§
"Who is Mrs. Singh?" Anisa asked, pointing to the name.
"Oh, that... she was a business partner who joined with Zayan sir, I believe," the manager replied, her tone hesitant. š
"Does she ever come here?" Anisa pressed.
"Yes, madam. She's been here a couple of times. The last time she came, she mentioned to Zayan sir that she wanted a portrait of herself done," the manager offered. š
"Did Zayan paint it for her?"
"Hmm... if I remember correctly, madam, sir had a canvas set up in the storage room near the end. I'm not sure if that was for it or not..." š¤
After gathering a few more details, Anisa dismissed the manager, her mind racing.
Once alone, Anisa walked to the large storage cabinet in the corner of her office. She remembered, upon first taking over, finding an old canvas tube tucked deep inside while cleaning. She retrieved it now, her hands unsteady. Untying the cap, she pulled out the rolled canvas and spread it flat on her desk. š
Her legs went weak. Staring back at her was a finely executed pencil portrait. It was Zahra. The likeness was unmistakable, the curly hair rendered with particular care. She had rolled this up and stored it away on her first day, too distracted by grief and responsibility to truly look at it.
"So," Anisa whispered into the silent office, sinking into her chair, a cold certainty settling over her. "Mrs. Singh... is Zahra." The business partnership, the secret portrait, the hidden sketches,it was all converging into a single, devastating truth about the entanglement between her husband and the other woman, a entanglement that was not just emotional, but financial. š°