Chapter 22 · Chapter 22

A heavy silence settled across the majlis, thick with the aromatic haze of Oud rising steadily from the brass Mabkhara in the center of the hall. The elders of the Al-Humaid council exchanged muted glances, their fingers resting upon strings of dark worry beads, none willing to contest the weight of Salman’s signed ledger.

Yet my uncle did not concede the floor entirely. He shifted in his seat, his gaze narrowing upon the open doorway where the estate steward stood waiting.

"The electronic perimeter speaks to the iron gates, Salman," Ammi said, his voice measured, cloaked in the formal politeness expected before the assembly. "It does not speak to the inner courtyard. Footsteps on polished marble leave no digital stamp before dawn."

Salman did not lean back, nor did he flinch. His white Thobe remained pristine, his posture at the center of the room commanding and unassailable. He tilted his Finjan toward the server, who stepped back soundlessly, understanding the unspoken dismissal.

"Bring the second man," Salman instructed quietly.