Chapter 36 · Chapter 36

The silence in the majlis was not the silence of peace; it was the quiet of men waiting for a ledger to close before dividing what remained.

Abu Fahad stepped forward, the hem of his dark brown bisht brushing the heavy weave of the carpet. The gold thread along his collar caught the afternoon light slicing through the tall, arched windows. He held himself like a man who believed the title deed was already transferred, the estate already partitioned in his mind.

"Speak clearly, Mariam," Abu Fahad said, his tone carrying the smooth weight of an elder who thought victory was already settled.

"These men have traveled from every quarter of Riyadh. The council has withheld its signatures since early morning. They did not sit through cold coffee to hear whispers."

He gestured toward the long line of low divans, where cousins, branch managers, and gray-bearded men of Al-Zahrani sat in stiff alignment, their fingers resting upon silver-tipped canes or turning smooth amber beads with measured indifference.

None of them looked at the far doorway where the heavy oak remained shut.