Chapter 22 · Chapter 22

The quiet of the private wing was dense, unbroken by the stir of the household beyond the heavy oak. Through the glass, the pale pink horizon of Riyadh was hardening into the sharp white gold of morning, catching the edges of the high garden walls.

Turki did not reach for the brass ring on the low table between us. Instead, he rose in a single, measured movement, the crisp white fabric of his thobe rustling faintly against the wool rug. He crossed to the dark burl wood console set against the inner wall, where a heavy leather folio lay beside a velvet-lined rosewood chest.

He brought both back to the table, setting them down beside the keys without haste or ceremony.

"The registry completed the transfer yesterday before the offices closed," he said, his voice level, carrying the calm authority that never required elevation. He opened the folio, turning the heavy cream pages toward me with two fingers.

"The residential plot in Al-Malqa, the commercial lease in Al-Sahafa, and the accounts held in your own name. The signatures require only your stamp, or none at all if you choose to deposit them directly with your advocate.