Chapter 21 · Untitled Chapter

The quiet that followed did not empty the majlis; it merely shifted the weight of who dared to cross its threshold.

Footsteps sounded in the outer corridor—measured, heavy with the deliberate rhythm of a man accustomed to carpeted boardrooms and decades of deference. Nasir stood at the entrance to announce him, his voice level and devoid of alarm: "Abu Fahad is here, Ya Ustadh. He asks for five minutes with the daughter of his old partner."

Bandar did not shift from his post beside the console, where the unsigned document lay untouched beside the dark rotary dial of the old telephone. His hand rested lightly on his amber beads, the dark resin slipping between his knuckles with an imperceptible click. His gaze met mine beneath the black folds of my Tarha before turning toward the arched doorway.

"Let him enter," Bandar said quietly.

A moment later, Abu Fahad stepped into the reception hall. He had known my father before the towers of the King Abdullah Financial District rose against the northern skyline, back when deals between the Al-Subaie and their peers were sealed with a word and a shared pot of cardamom-scented coffee.