Set in Thrissur, the story begins with Martin Chemban Vinod Jose, a renowned thief in Koorkancheri, confessing his past to a priest Lijo Jose Pellissery in a quiet church. The confession quickly unfurls into a gritty tapestry of crime, misfortune, and loyalty as Martin is arrested for stealing from a Hindu temple, while his accomplice Geevarghese escapes into the night. After the arrest, Martin is sent to Central Prison Viyyoor, where he encounters six fellow inmates who share a common thread of bad choices and sharpened survival instincts: Narayankutty, an electronic shop owner caught with a hidden camera in a soap box used in a hotel bathroom; Nobelettan, a wealthy and influential businessman who runs a bustling chit fund while facing a web of deceit and betrayal; Pius Mathew, a local politician and councillor whose actions ripple through the lives of many; Christo Mathew, connected to the same web of schemes; Shabab, whose trouble with a visa provider lands him behind bars; and Leaf Vasu, a former hitman who now struggles with a mental disorder after an injury. The prison crowd also includes Salam, a circus magician with a tendency to lash out at troublesome crowds, and Krishnanunni, a bank employee whose wife Sarah suffered a cruel fate at the hands of Pius. Together, these seven men begin to weave a plan to seize the money stored in a safe at a charity hospital where Pius and his brothers keep their cash.
Upon release, the group seeks aid from Annamma, Noblettan's daughter and a nurse at the same hospital, to install spy cameras—an effort that Narayankutty helps bring to life. The blueprint of the heist reveals that the target safe can only be opened with three keys, each belonging to one of three powerful figures: Pius Mathew, Christo Mathew, and Franco Mathew. To outsmart their security, the gang plots to duplicate these keys by imprinting them onto pieces of soap, a clever ruse designed to exploit human distractions. They determine the locations of the three keys: Christo keeps his in a glass cabinet, Pius wears his on a chain, and Franco keeps his key in his car. The plan hinges on a festival night that will provide the perfect window for intrusion.
On the night of the heist, Leaf Vasu is instructed to plant fireworks in the hospital’s sewage tank, granting the intruders access to the rear of the building. Annamma then cuts the main power supply, allowing the team to reach the room housing the blueprint-guarded safe via the exhaust fan. They succeed in reaching and unlocking the safe, only to trigger an alarm that betrays their presence. A frantic chase ensues as the burning anger of the moment gives way to a desperate scramble for the money, but Krishnanunni vanishes with the loot, leaving the others chasing shadows and questions.
The narrative shifts back to the present as Martin recounts the tale to the priest, detailing how the gang searched for Krishnanunni and were startled to encounter another man bearing the same name. In the days that follow, each member receives a box crowned with solar panels. Within, they discover their promised share of the loot—money that has now transformed into a tangible symbol of both their hard-won luck and their collective conscience. The revelation lands with a punch: the Krishnanunni who guided the crew was not a true ally but a con man, and his new life begins in Trivandrum, where he assumes a fresh identity and sets about peddling solar panels to a cadre of politicians and businessmen. This marks the dawn of a newer, larger con, one that promises to outpace the earlier scheme and redefine the band’s fate.
Throughout the film, the heartbeat of the heist is sustained by the distinct improvisations and frailties of its ensemble. The plan is a delicate dance between ingenuity and risk, as each character’s past—tender, violent, hopeful, or damaged—intertwines with the others in a web of motives. The host of personalities—from the calculating Nobelettan to the haunted Leaf Vasu, from the wily Shabab to the calculating Krishnanunni—creates a climate in which trust is a rare commodity and every decision can tilt the balance between fortune and ruin. The present-day reckoning with Krishnanunni’s duplicity adds a layer of moral complexity: the money’s distribution is less a simple victory and more a consequence of aliases, disguises, and the shifting sands of loyalty.
In the end, the movie leaves viewers with a quiet, unsettling sense of inevitability. The solar boxes—once symbols of fortune—become markers of a cycle that can be started anew by those who know how to bend systems to their will. The twist that Krishnanunni was a con man reframes the entire caper: it’s not just a story about a theft, but a meditation on deceit, reinvention, and the endless games people play to survive, thrive, or merely stay one step ahead. The film lingers on this tension, inviting audiences to ponder who truly “wins” when the dust settles and at what cost a single con can seed an even larger one.
