Chapter 11

Sana Khoury's face contorted as she reached into her designer handbag. She pulled out a thick stack of cash, the paper crisp and smelling of the bank, and hurled it at Tariq's feet. The notes scattered across the pavement of the Mansour Corporation parking lot. "Take it and leave," Sana hissed, her teeth gritted so hard her jaw trembled. "Leave the company, Tariq. Don't show your face here again. This is more than a loser like you makes in a year of deliveries." The surrounding employees went still. No one dared to whisper as they watched the bills settle near Tariq's worn shoes. Tariq looked down at the money, then back at Sana. A faint, amused smile played on his lips. "Refused," he said calmly. "I think I'll stay exactly where I am." "You have no shame!" Sana's voice rose to a shriek. "Do you think being a former classmate gives you the right to harass me at my workplace? You're a delivery boy, Tariq! A live-in son-in-law who eats scraps! Get out before I have security drag you through the dirt!" The security chief stepped forward, his hand moving toward his baton, his eyes locked on Tariq with predatory intent. The roar of a high-performance engine cut through the tension. A sleek, black Bentley swept into the parking lot, navigating the turns with aggressive precision. It didn't head for the visitor slots or the executive row. It pulled directly into the space marked with the gold-leaf sign: *President*. The door opened, and Nadia Hale stepped out. She was dressed in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit that screamed authority. Without glancing at the crowd of stunned employees, she marched straight toward Tariq. When she reached him, she stopped and performed a deep, formal bow. "I am deeply sorry for my tardiness, President," Nadia said, her voice echoing with profound respect. "The preparations took longer than anticipated. Please forgive me." The security chief froze. The employees stood like statues, their breaths held. Tariq looked at Nadia, noting the way she carried herself now compared to the girl who used to handle his filing years ago. "Nadia Hale," he said with a slight nod. "It's been a while. You've risen quite far since the last time we spoke." "It is all thanks to your past guidance, President," she replied, straightening her back but keeping her eyes lowered. Sana's brain seemed to stall. She looked from the Bentley to Nadia, then to Tariq, who stood there in his common clothes amidst the scattered cash. "Nadia? What are you doing?" Sana stammered, her confusion turning into a sharp, jagged anger. "Why are you bowing to him? This is Tariq! He's a cleaner, a hustler... he's a delivery boy!" Nadia turned her head. Her gaze, previously respectful toward Tariq, turned into a blade of ice as it landed on Sana. "Clean your mouth, Manager Khoury," Nadia said, her voice cold and firm. "You are looking at the new owner of the Mansour Corporation. This is Tariq Mansour, our President." The silence in the parking lot became absolute. The security chief's hand dropped from his belt as if he had been burned. Sana felt the blood drain from her extremities. The image of Tariq as the pathetic son-in-law she had looked down upon clashed violently with the reality of Nadia Hale—the President's personal secretary—bowing in the dirt before him. "President?" Sana whispered, the word tasting like ash. "But... he's the Al-Farsi family's embarrassment. He's a loser. How can he be..." Nadia stepped closer to Sana, her stature making the manager seem small. "Your personal opinions on the President's private life are irrelevant," Nadia said lightly, though the firmness in her tone brooked no argument. "You are a manager. He owns the building you stand in and the chair you sit on. Do you understand the hierarchy, or do you need a formal dismissal to clarify it?" Sana's knees buckled. The gravity of the last ten minutes crashed down on her. She had insulted him. She had tried to fire him. She had thrown money at him like he was a beggar. The pale ghost of her reflection showed in the polished side of the Bentley. She was weak, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Tariq looked down at the scattered bills again. "Sana," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Pick up the money." Sana trembled, her hands shaking so violently she had to clench them into fists. "Tariq... I..." "Pick it up," he repeated. "Keep it. You might need it for your future living expenses. It's hard to find work when you've been blacklisted by the Mansours." Sana dropped to her knees, her fingers fumbling as she gathered the notes from the pavement, the very money she had used to humiliate him now a symbol of her own desperation. Tariq turned his gaze to the security chief, who was trying to shrink into the shadows of the lobby entrance. "You," Tariq said. "You're fired. Leave your badge with the front desk and get out." The chief didn't argue. He turned and fled toward the gates. Khalid Saab, standing at the edge of the crowd, remained silent, his face a mask of shock as he watched the man he had ridiculed walk toward the entrance. Tariq didn't look back. He walked into the building, Nadia and a phalanx of senior staff following two steps behind him in a silent, disciplined procession. They took the private elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened, Tariq stepped into the Director's Office. The entire floor had been transformed. It had been refurbished overnight, every piece of furniture positioned exactly where he liked it, the scent of the room and the lighting adjusted to his specific habits from years ago. It was as if he had never left. He walked to the massive desk and sat in the president's chair, the leather creaking under his weight. Nadia stepped forward and placed a leather-bound folder on the desk. "These are the final ownership transfer documents, President. Everything has been legalized. The Mansour Corporation is entirely under your name." Tariq flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the clauses with practiced ease. Sana stood by the door, silent and pale, watching as he signed his name with a fluid, decisive stroke. "First order of business," Tariq said, leaning back. "Cancel all planned investments. Every project currently in the pipeline is to be frozen immediately." Nadia blinked, then nodded, recording the command. "Understood. And the five billion dollars in liquid capital the Mansours recently moved?" "We are redirecting it," Tariq said, his voice light but firm. "Announce a new five-billion-dollar investment fund specifically for projects in Al-Safwa. I want every major player in that city to know that the Mansour Corporation is the only door worth knocking on." Sana felt a cold shiver. Her promotion to General Manager had been tied to one of the projects Tariq just killed. "Furthermore," Tariq continued, "all scheduled promotions are postponed indefinitely. We will re-evaluate every candidate based on their loyalty and performance under the new administration." Sana's heart sank. Her years of climbing, the favors she had done, the bridges she had burned to secure that promotion—it was all gone. Not just delayed, but placed in the hands of the man she had just tried to bribe into exile. She saw her career slipping through her fingers, the looming threat of unemployment turning into a dark reality. She took a hesitant step forward, her voice soft and trembling. "Tariq... please. Don't do this. I worked so hard for that position. We were classmates. We have history." Tariq looked up from the documents, his expression unreadable. "I'll do anything," Sana whispered, her desperation overriding her pride. "Anything you want. Just... don't fire me. Don't take this away." Tariq tilted his head, a look of genuine amusement crossing his face. He tapped his pen against the desk, the rhythmic sound echoing in the silent office. "Anything I want?" Tariq asked. "Sana, what exactly do you expect me to do to you?" ════════════════════════════════════════