Chapter 16

The grand hall of the Al-Mansour Manor hummed with the rhythmic clinking of silverware and the polite, measured laughter of the social elite. For over half an hour, a steady stream of guests had approached the head table, offering tributes to Hana Al-Mansour. The birthday banquet had reached its midpoint, and the hierarchy of the family was clearly etched into the seating chart. Tariq Al-Khoury sat in a position that felt like a tightening vise, sandwiched between his wife, Layla, and her elder sister, Layan Al-Mansour. Layan rose from her seat, smoothing her elegant dress before presenting a pair of jadeite bracelets to the matriarch. The stones were a vivid, translucent green that caught the overhead chandeliers, shimmering with a watery light. "Grandmother, I hope these bring you health and longevity," Layan said, her voice firm and respectful. Tariq leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the texture and the specific hue of the jade. "Al Jawhara Al Yasmin," he muttered to himself, his voice barely a breath. "That's good stuff." Layan's head snapped toward him, her eyebrows furrowing in genuine surprise. She hadn't expected the man the family treated as a useless burden to recognize the rarity of the material. "You actually know it's Al Jawhara Al Yasmin?" Tariq gave a small, unassuming nod. "It's unmistakable. Delicate touch, high translucency. How much did you pay for these?" "Six hundred thousand," Layan replied, her tone defensive as if daring him to criticize the expense. Tariq shook his head slowly, his gaze returning to the bracelets now being admired by Hana. "You were overcharged. Based on the grain and the cut, the market price is four hundred and fifty thousand. The estimated value of those specific pieces shouldn't exceed four hundred thousand bucks. You paid a premium for nothing." Layan opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat as Hana Al-Mansour let out a satisfied cackle, holding the bracelets up for the room to see. "Beautiful," Hana proclaimed, her eyes scanning the crowd of eligible bachelors. "Layan is a gem of our family, isn't she? A woman this refined deserves a husband who is truly 'husband material.' A man of standing, of resources." The invitation was silent but unmistakable. It was a call for the power players in the room to make their move. Basil Reyes, the eldest grandson of the Reyes family, didn't hesitate. He stood up with practiced grace, smoothing his suit jacket before walking to the center of the floor. The Reyes family had maintained deep ties with the Mansours for generations, and the room went quiet in anticipation of his move. "Grandmother Hana," Basil began, his voice clear and resonant. "I have admired Layan for a long time. My feelings for her are as deep as the history between our families." He reached into his pocket and produced a slip of paper, holding it out with both hands. "As a gesture of my sincerity and my intent to propose marriage, I offer this check for 1,314,520." The number was a deliberate romantic code, and the sheer amount for a mere banquet gift sent a ripple of murmurs through the guests. Basil's gaze flicked back toward Layan, but his expression soured instantly. Layan wasn't looking at him. She was leaned over, whispering to Tariq, her face close to his as she seemed to be questioning him further about the jadeite. The sight of the 'useless' son-in-law occupying the attention of his intended bride sent a flash of heat to Basil's face. "Tariq!" Basil shouted, pointing a trembling finger. "Stay away from Layan! What right do you have to even breathe the same air as her, let alone whisper in her ear? Know your place!" Tariq pulled back, his expression returning to its usual mask of submissiveness, but the damage to Basil's ego was done. The young heir turned back to Hana, his chest heaving. "Grandmother, my proposal stands." Layan looked at the check, then at the expectant faces of the elders. She couldn't reject the Reyes family heir outright in front of the entire city's elite—the political fallout would be disastrous—but the thought of an immediate engagement felt like a lead weight. "Grandmother," Layan said, her voice carefully neutral. "It is a generous offer. I... I need to give the marriage proposal some thought. It isn't a decision to be made in the middle of a dinner." Hana Al-Mansour, ever the pragmatist, saw the tension and smoothed it over with a thin smile. "Of course, child. Such things require reflection. We shall discuss the proposal after the banquet." Basil took his seat, his eyes burning into the back of Tariq's head. Layla sat in stony silence, her face a mask of cold disdain, while Salma and Rayyan Al-Mansour exchanged looks of frustration. They were waiting for their own big moment, one that didn't involve Tariq or Layan. The heavy oak doors of the banquet hall swung open, and the air in the room seemed to shift. Karim Al-Farsi walked in, radiating an aura of supreme confidence that bordered on arrogance. He didn't wait for an introduction. He marched toward the center of the room, his eyes fixed solely on Layla. "Grandmother Hana, distinguished guests," Karim announced, his voice booming. "I am here today with a singular purpose. I intend to marry Layla Al-Mansour." He turned to Layla, his expression a theatrical display of devotion. "Layla, I have sacrificed everything to prove my love. Even though the Khoury family was petty enough to cut off my funding, I didn't waver. I sold my entire company—every asset I owned—just to ensure you could have what you deserved." He gestured vaguely toward the 'The Emerald's Embrace' shoes Layla was currently wearing. "I spent thirty million on those shoes for you. My company was a small price to pay for your happiness." The room erupted. Guests leaned in, whispering about the sheer romantic scale of the sacrifice. To sell a business for a pair of shoes was the height of elite devotion. Tariq, sitting silently, felt a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked at the shoes on Layla's feet, then at Karim's smug, boasting face. The claim was so shamelessly false it was almost impressive. Karim hadn't sold a thing; he was a vulture claiming credit for a gift he hadn't even sourced. But Karim wasn't finished. He signaled to an assistant, who brought forward a long, silk-wrapped scroll. "I know Grandmother Hana is a connoisseur of the arts," Karim said, stepping toward the head table. "I spent a king's ransom to acquire this. It is a sign of my respect for the Al-Mansour lineage." He unfurled the scroll with a flourish. "Wang Xizhi's Al-Aman Charm." The hall went deathly silent. Rayan Reyes, the patriarch of the Reyes family and a known expert in calligraphy, practically fell out of his chair. He scrambled forward, pulling a magnifying glass from his pocket, his hands shaking. "Is it... could it be?" Rayan Reyes breathed, his eyes darting over the brushstrokes. He let out a gasp of pure, unadulterated excitement. "The flow... the ink density... it's genuine! This is a masterpiece of the highest order!" He looked up at Hana, his face flushed. "Hana, this is worth at least twenty million on the open market, perhaps far more at auction. It is a national treasure!" Hana Al-Mansour's hands trembled as she reached out to touch the edge of the paper. Her eyes shone with a greed and pride she couldn't hide. "Put it away," she whispered to the servants standing nearby. "Carefully! Put it in the climate-controlled vault immediately!" Karim stood tall, basking in the glow of the room's adoration. He threw a mocking glance toward Tariq, a silent declaration of victory. He had bought the favor of the matriarch, solidified his claim to Layla, and established himself as the wealthiest, most devoted suitor in the room. Tariq Al-Khoury stood up. The movement was sudden, breaking the flow of the celebration. He didn't look at the guests, and he didn't look at his wife. His eyes were locked onto the scroll as the servants began to roll it back up. He knew that scroll. He knew the weight of the paper and the specific scent of the ancient ink. He knew it because the genuine Al-Aman Charm—the one Fadi Nasser and the others had gifted him to mark his rise—was currently sitting in a plain, unmarked box in his possession. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. Karim Al-Farsi wasn't just a liar; he was a fraud who had brought a fake to the one man in the city who could prove it. ════════════════════════════════════════