Chapter 30 · Chapter 30

The representative from my father’s branch of the family did not remain in the side gallery; he had followed my steps back toward the hall, his leather portfolio tucked beneath his arm like an unsheathed weapon.

His name was Tariq Al-Subait, an advocate whose voice had carried through commercial arbitrations across the capital, a man accustomed to seeing women accept a legal partition rather than endure the quiet judgment of an open room.

He caught up to me just short of the low carpet where the elders sat.

"Danah," he murmured under his breath, keeping his tone pitched beneath the rustle of conversation. "The mandate requires only your electronic signature on the portal. You lodge the petition under the commercial court before midnight, and Hatim Al-Rumaih cannot touch the northern deed. You walk out through the family gate, and your uncle’s name shields you from any forfeiture. Why yield what is yours by right?"

I stopped three paces from the perimeter of the carpets. Across the room, Hatim sat at the sadr, his white thobe impeccably starched beneath the sheer dark weave of his bisht.