As I opened the worn leather diary, a faint scent of lavender wafted out, carrying with it memories of Madam Flora's gentle touch. The pages, yellowed with age, revealed a life of quiet determination and unwavering dedication. I delved deeper, devouring every word, every sentence, every revelation.
The diary spoke of Madam Flora's early days, her struggles, and her triumphs. It spoke of her vision for Miraj Group, of her dreams, and of her fears. But most of all, it spoke of the darkness that had crept in, threatening to consume everything she had built.
As I read on, a chill ran down my spine. The words on the page seemed to whisper secrets, secrets that Madam Flora had taken to her grave. Secrets of deceit, of corruption, of murder.
I felt a surge of anger, of betrayal. How could this have happened? How could the company she loved, the company she had given her life to, be so rotten at its core?
