With Zan’s death, something inside Jia had died too. Without word or warning, she cut off all contact with Elyas. He had called her every day, written her lengthy emails, sent her letters and texts, but she had not replied. Left without explanations and only assumptions as to what he had done to deserve such treatment, Elyas arrived at Pukhtun House but was turned away by security. He waited at the gates until darkness fell. No one came to ask after him, not even Sanam Khan, who had always been kind to him. The police were called and he’d spent the night in a cell, accused of harassment. Nothing had come of it except an official letter requesting the dissolution of the marriage. Elyas had ignored it, putting it to one side, thinking that she would reconsider. And then one day his father-in-law had arrived with a child he said was his.

Still standing in the hallway, dressed in his pyjamas, Elyas had been bewildered by what was unfolding. He looked down at the swollen but tiny baby, sucking hard on its tiny fist. He’d read somewhere that newborns resembled their fathers to give them a greater chance of surviving. It was evolution’s way of confirming paternity. And sure enough, when the baby looked back at him, his warm brown eyes wide and accepting, Elyas saw his own features reflected back. He stared up at Akbar Khan for guidance, but the crime lord and kingpin, looking almost comical clutching a feeding bottle, with a baby bag swung over his shoulder and a burp cloth in his other hand, was in a hurry. The surreal situation in which he found himself meant questions were left unasked and unanswered.

Now, so many years later, waiting in a cemetery, having buried the man who created this situation, Jia was having to answer questions about her part in what played out that night. She thought back to the day her father had told her that Ahad was still alive.

He’d arrived one summer’s evening last year, almost unannounced. It was late on a Friday. The last appointment. Her PA had brought him to her office, grinning, thinking she’d pulled off a raise-worthy stunt. Jia had thanked her firmly and asked her to close the door behind her.

‘It’s not her fault,’ he’d said. ‘I told her it was a surprise family reunion. You don’t come to me, and I was here on business anyway, so I asked her to list the appointment under a pseudonym.’