Bose remained silent for a long moment, his initial anger slowly giving way to a grudging fascination. He had expected an apology, a retreat, perhaps even a plea for acceptance. Instead, he got an unvarnished, brutal assessment of his movement's shortcomings. It was audacious, shocking, and profoundly, unsettlingly logical.
"Economic warfare?" Bose repeated, leaning forward, his voice softer now, tinged with curiosity. "Explain."
Adav did. He spoke not in abstract terms of nation-building, but in the precise language of an architect detailing a complex construction project. He outlined the vulnerabilities of the British economy, the immense profits they extracted from India, and how those profits could be rerouted. He spoke of strategic industries – not just steel, but chemicals, pharmaceuticals, shipping – industries that would make India self-sufficient and indispensable.
He presented figures, drawn from the Codex, of the immense capital locked up in British banks that could be mobilized. He detailed how his own steel plants, fertilizer factories, and shipping lines were already subtly undermining British monopolies, forcing them to import less, produce more in India, or concede ground.
"You talk of freedom," Adav continued, "but you must first build the engine that powers it. The British do not understand ideals, Mr. Bose. They understand profit. They understand power. If we can make their occupation economically unviable, if we can demonstrate an independent India can manage its own affairs more efficiently and profitably, then they will negotiate. From a position of weakness, not strength."
Bose listened intently, his initial skepticism melting away. This wasn't the naive idealism he encountered in other nationalist leaders. This was cold, hard pragmatism. This was power. Adav didn't promise a glorious war; he promised an inevitable victory, meticulously calculated and built brick by brick, rupee by rupee. The sheer scale of Adav's vision, coupled with the proven success of "Adav Steel," was compelling.
"You speak of an engine," Bose said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "And you, young Architect, have built it. But an engine needs a driver. It needs a destination."
"You, Mr. Bose," Adav replied, his gaze firm, "will be the driver. The public face. The ideological sword. I will remain in the shadows, the financial and industrial engine. We will build an India strong enough to command its own destiny."
In that dimly lit room, a pact was forged between the quiet, calculating architect and the fiery, brilliant firebrand. A silent agreement that would reshape the destiny of a subcontinent.