It all ends here.
denouement (noun)
de·noue·ment | dā-ˈnü-ˌmä
The final outcome of the main dramatic complication in a literary work
The outcome of a complex sequence of events
Merriam Webster
Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV
EPILOGUE
One month later, Delhi’s National History Museum received a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied with string. The head curator opened it and gasped.
“They’ve finally done it!” she whispered quietly. The Kohinoor had come home. News spread quickly. When Laila heard about the return from her mother, she had to tell every cell in her body to calm down and not look happy about it. The diamond somehow made its way out of England and back to India.
Laila still had no idea what happened. Whoever stole the Kohinoor before she had the chance to somehow neutralized her GoPro’s recording capabilities: it stopped recording over an hour before Laila got to the office. She spent almost two weeks losing sleep over the diamond and where it might be, taking out the replica jewel at night, letting herself get hypnotised by its shine. Kate Middleton wore one of the other replicas to the Met Gala and wasn’t happy about it. The investigation was losing steam as the Yard ran out of leads and theories.
During this time, Laila also got to know her father a bit better. “Laila, you should meet your grandparents—my mum and dad,” he said one day at teatime, over unsweetened chai and Parle G biscuits. “My brother is welcoming his grandchild to the world next week.” Laila agreed enthusiastically, excited to be part of a large family.
“I have one quick call to make,” her father said, stepping away from the table. “But you should get another round—on me.”
At 10 Downing Street, a few moments before Laila ordered a second round of chai and biscuits, the PM was talking on a secure line. Of course, all the lines at Downing Street were secure, but this one was extra secure. It was the only one he felt comfortable cursing on, and so it was the only one he used to speak with his wife. This time, though, he was talking to someone a little less scary—but just about as angry with his judgement.
“Yes, I’ve seen the news. Hm, well, we can’t just bloody ask for it back, now, can we? After stealing it in the first place? I’d be mad to—I don’t care what those wankers at Parliament say. I’d love to fight them on it.” He paused and covered the mouthpiece, frowning. He hit a button to access another, less secure line, and said, “Jay, I should’ve had my tea brought up many moments ago. Please see to it, posthaste.” Turning his attention back to the phone he said, “Ah yes, where was I? Of course we weren’t the ones who stole it, I’m using the Royal ‘we’—no pun intended—but jokes aside, really, it’s out of my hands. Literally and figuratively, at this point.” He hung up the phone as Jay entered, holding a silver tray with the PM’s afternoon tea.
“Your unsweetened chai and Parle G biscuits, sir”
“Ah, Jay. This is the only thing that gets me through the day,” the PM said, rubbing his hands together as Jay set the tray down. “Do you know why the chai is unsweetened, Jay?”
“No, sir”
“I learned this from an old schoolmate of mine,” the PM explained. “You take unsweetened chai because the biscuits are already sweet. You don’t want too much sugar. Not when you’re genetically predisposed to diabetes—ha!”
“Of course not, sir” The phone rang, and Jay was waved away. It was the extra secure line again. Please don’t let it be the wife.
“Hello? Oh, thank god it’s you. I thought you might be the missus.” There was a laugh on the other end. “Well, I take it you’ve seen the news. Smashing job, by the way. I’m sorry we had to get personal. But it looks like all’s well that ends well, eh?” There was noncommittal assent at the other end. “And nice touch leaving that wad of bills for them—how much did you put there, exactly. And was it all government money? Oh, I see it was the amount Britain originally paid for it. But was that adjusted for inflation?” The PM laughed again. “God, I’d give almost anything to pull a scheme like this with you and the boys again. Yes, after this term’s over we’ll have to plan something or the other. Spain or—no, not Goa, we’re not 25 anymore—thank the bloody heavens for that…”
Across town, Laila dipped a biscuit in her chai. Dad’s right—It’s better unsweetened. Sweet chai and biscuits would probably give me cavities. Whoever her father was talking to was making him laugh incredibly hard. Definitely not mum… could it be another woman? It didn’t look like the conversation was going to end anytime soon. She pulled out her phone. It seemed like every other Tweet, post, and headline was covering the surprise repatriation of the Kohinoor. A Hindustani Times feature was the first link that popped up, and Laila clicked the article. She started skimming once she realised she pretty much knew all the information. That is, until she got to the end:
“The Kohinoor was not the only thing returned back to India this week. A handful of gold coins from the Victoria and Albert Museum, dating back to the era of Emperor Chandragupta (380 – 414 CE) were also deposited in the same parcel as the jewel. These coins were listed as missing from the British Museum about 25 years ago. Although we have no leads as to who returned these artefacts, the individual or organisation left a small clue to their motivation: a note, written in both Devangari and English script, which reads ‘No Country Should Be Without Its Roots.’ This begs the question: will more of our artefacts be coming home?”
This Week’s Top 3
- Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow 🌊 – Awesome book, finished it in 1.5 days.
- “Irish Style” by Hot for Crime ☘️ – and the entire OBX Season 3 Playlist
- Pizzeria Portofino 🍕 – pizza by the (green!) Chicago river. 7/10 pizza, 9/10 views