Sunday morning, 10:18 a.m.

R.K. Kapoor’s private study in their Worli penthouse was a temple of power: dark walnut desk the size of a small bed, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes he never read, a single massive leather chair behind the desk that cost more than most people’s annual salary. On the wall behind it: a framed photo of him receiving the “Businessman of the Year” award, shaking hands with a former chief minister. The chair still smelled faintly of his cologne—sandalwood and ambition.