The Phone That Rang at Midnight

M Mehran

The phone rang at 12:00 a.m. sharp, slicing through the silence of Inspector Mira Das’s apartment. She had been expecting sleep; instead, she got a whisper that froze the blood in her veins.
“Inspector,” the voice trembled, “there’s been… a murder. And I think I’m the next one.”
Mira sat up straight. “Name?”
A shaky breath. “Arman Rafiq. I don’t know who else to call.”
The line went dead.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window—tired eyes, hair undone, the kind of face that carried too many ghosts. Arman Rafiq. She knew that name. Everyone did. Ex-accountant turned whistleblower. The man who stole secret files from Sahara Finance, exposing their money laundering to the world.
Rumor said the company wanted him erased.
Now it wasn’t rumor anymore.
1
Arman’s apartment was small, silent, and already carrying the metallic scent of fear. The door was unlocked. Mira stepped inside with her hand on her weapon.
“Arman? Police.”
A figure jumped from behind the counter. Mira raised her gun—then paused. A terrified teenage girl stared back at her, hands shaking.
“He said you’d come,” the girl whispered. “Uncle Arman told me to hide if something happened.”
“Where is he?” Mira asked.
The girl pointed to the bedroom.
Arman lay on the floor, eyes open, a crimson stain blooming across his shirt. His breathing was ragged—alive, but slipping fast.
“You… came,” he coughed. “Listen to me. They’re coming for the files. You have to take them. Don’t let them get erased.”
“Who did this?” Mira demanded, kneeling beside him.
He swallowed hard. “The one pulling strings… someone in your department.”
Mira froze. “My department?”
Arman nodded, voice barely a ghost now. “There’s a mole. They’re cleaning house. Next…” His breath hitched. “Next is… you.”
His eyes glazed over. Silence.
Arman Rafiq was gone.
2
Mira turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Lina,” she whispered.
“You’re coming with me,” Mira said. “You’re not safe here.”
Before they could move, the apartment lights cut out.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Mira grabbed the girl’s hand. “Closet. Stay silent.”
The doorknob turned. A man stepped inside, wearing a mask and holding a silencer. He scanned the room like a predator. Mira stayed still, breath locked behind her teeth. The man checked Arman’s pulse.
“He’s dead,” the intruder muttered into a radio. “Finish clearing the place.”
He reached for the bedroom closet.
Mira moved first.
One shot. The man dropped. The radio crackled.
“Team Two, report. Team Two?”
Mira grabbed Lina and the drive that Arman had hidden beneath loose floorboards. Then they ran.
3
They drove through Karachi’s sleeping streets, neon signs flickering against the wet pavement. Lina stared out the window, tears cutting silent paths down her cheeks.
“Why are they after you?” Mira asked.
“My uncle said the files show everything,” Lina murmured. “The fake accounts. The bribes. Names of politicians. Even police.”
“Which police?”
Lina hesitated. “He said the person hunting him was close to you.”
Mira’s heartbeat thundered. She had trusted every officer in her unit. Or thought she had.
She parked under a bridge. “We need a place they won’t look.”
Lina looked up. “Where?”
Mira met her eyes. “Sahara Finance headquarters.”
4
They slipped into the building through the underground loading dock. It wasn’t difficult—too quiet, too easy. As if someone wanted them inside.
The elevator dinged open into a private office. A man stood beside the window, city lights haloing him like a crown.
Deputy Commissioner Harris Khan. Mira’s commanding officer.
Her mentor.
“I figured you’d go for the files,” Harris said calmly. “You always were predictable.”
Mira drew her gun. “You killed Arman. Why?”
“I didn’t kill him,” Harris said, stepping closer. “But I ordered it.”
The confession fell like a blade.
“He had evidence,” Mira said coldly.
“He had lies,” Harris corrected. “The kind that destroy governments, businesses, the country’s economy. Do you think justice survives without money? Without power? Someone has to maintain the balance.”
“Balance?” Mira spat. “You’re protecting criminals.”
“I’m controlling them,” he snapped. “There’s a difference.”
Mira raised her gun higher. “Give me a reason not to arrest you.”
“You won’t pull that trigger,” Harris said. “Because if you do… every officer in this city will hunt you. And the girl. Think carefully, Mira. Is truth worth losing everything?”
The silence stretched like wire ready to snap.
Then Lina stepped forward. “My uncle died for the truth. Someone has to finish what he started.”
Harris sighed. “Then I suppose this is where it ends.”
He reached for his gun.
Mira fired first.
5
Screams echoed. Security flooded the building, but Mira had already grabbed Lina and the files. They sprinted into the stairwell, down eighteen flights, through a back door, and into the escaping night.
Hours later, they sat in a tiny internet café. Mira uploaded the files—every document, every secret, every recorded bribe.
She didn’t hide behind anonymity. She signed her name.
Inspector Mira Das.
The city would wake up to a storm.
6
When the police bulletin came out minutes later, Mira already knew what it would say:
Mira Das. Wanted for treason and murder.
She looked at Lina. “I can’t protect you if you stay with me.”
Lina nodded. “I know. But you did the right thing.”
Mira brushed a tear from the girl’s cheek. “So did you.”
They parted at the bus station. Lina disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by morning light.
Mira pulled up her hood and walked the other direction, disappearing into the city she once swore to defend.
Tonight, she was no longer the hunter.
She was the hunted.
And somewhere in the shadows, a new page of justice was beginning—written not by the system, but by those brave enough to break it.