Chapter 23 · Chapter 23

The silence that settled across the long carpet was thick with the scent of smoldering agarwood from the silver mabkhara. The men seated along the low perimeter diwans shifted, their starched collars creaking softly against their necks, but not one of them dared break the line Nayef had drawn on the floor.

Except for Bandar.

My second uncle’s youngest son had always mistaken rashness for courage. He sat two places down from the elders, his white ghutra pinned back with an impatience that belonged in a racing paddock, not an assembly of family arbiters. His knuckles whitened against his knees, his jaw set in stubborn defiance against Nayef’s pronouncement.

"The Al-Zamil legacy does not belong to ink spilled under pressure," Bandar said, his voice rising just high enough to strain the quiet dignity of the hall. "The shares require custodian signatures before the registry at the ministry accepts them. A woman’s sole seal is not sufficient for an estate of this weight."

He did not wait for his father to grant him permission to rise.