One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

The bankers pored over the booklets. I thought of an excuse I could use to take out my phone. I
didn’t want Debu to leave for the restaurant.
The bankers cared little about my boyfriend.
‘What’s the guarantee it is going to work?’ one of the lenders said.
‘There isn’t,’ I said, ‘but now that we have finally valued the business, twenty-five million is
maximum recovery. Or fifty cents on the dollar.’
‘We can offer thirty cents,’ Jonathan said, ‘and you can be out of this.’
That’s how we worked. Bid at thirty cents, hoped to recover fifty.
‘Thirty cents?’ Dirk said. ‘That’s nothing.’
‘Goldman is taking all the risk here of reviving it,’ Jonathan said.
The creditors huddled together.
‘Should we leave you alone for ten minutes?’ Jonathan said and stood up.
Yes, this was my chance to make my call. Jonathan, Clark and I left the room.
I rushed back to my cubicle.
I called Debu.
‘Hey baby, where are you? I was just about to leave. Did you see my messages?’ Debu said.
‘No, I just stepped out of a never-ending creditor meeting.’
‘What?’
‘We are about to close a deal. My first, actually.’
‘It’s 7.30. We have an 8 o’clock reservation. Comedy Cellar doesn’t allow you late entry.’
‘I am so sorry. Can you cancel it, please?’
‘We’ve already paid. Fifteen bucks each.’
‘I know. I am so sorry.’
‘What? Really?’ he said, his voice low.
‘Can I make it up to you? Tonight? Come over to my place.’
‘When?’
‘Have your dinner and come over. I will join you soon.’
I hung up and waited at my desk. I had rented a one-bedroom unit in Tribeca, one of the closest
residential neighbourhoods from Wall Street. Debu had an extra set of keys, as he came over on a
regular basis.
I had gone to his place in Brooklyn only a few times. A typical bachelor pad, it had more beer
than groceries in the fridge. He shared the apartment with two other guys, offering us little privacy.
They kept their house keys under a potted plant outside the house. When I asked Debu why, he said,
‘Just simpler, baby, we lost six duplicate keys in the last three months.’
My desk phone rang. Jonathan had called from the meeting room.
‘Can you and Clark come over?’ he said.
Clark and I reached the meeting room.
‘Clark, Radhika, I am happy to say the lender group here has agreed. We have a deal. Your
first, right?’
‘Yes. That is great news,’ I said.
‘Radhika, we need a quick term sheet. The remaining documentation can be done later.’
My heart sank. A term sheet would take a couple of hours. Jonathan and Clark took the lenders
downstairs for a drink to Harry’s Café & Steak, two blocks from the Goldman building. I worked at
my desk, drafting the term sheet with all the deal conditions.
Jonathan came up to my desk late at night. He looked at his watch.