Chapter 9

Yusuf Saleh, the man who held the reputations and futures of Al-Safwa's elite in his grip, took a sharp step forward. The wicked, daunting aura that had suffocated the room only moments ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic tension. He stopped inches from Tariq Mansour, his buzzcut gleaming under the chandelier light, and then his back bent. The owner of Al-Mass Hotel bowed deeply, his forehead nearly level with the table. "I did not know it was you," Yusuf said, his voice dropping into a low, trembling register that echoed in the sudden, deafening silence of the private room. "Please, forgive my behavior. I have been blind, truly blind. I ask for your mercy." Karim Darwish stood frozen, his mouth hanging open as he clutched his insufficient bank card. Sana Khoury and Zahra pressed their backs against the wall, their eyes wide as they watched the most powerful man in the district grovel before the man they had spent the evening mocking. No one breathed. The air in the room felt as though it had turned to glass, fragile and sharp. Tariq looked down at the top of Yusuf's head. He didn't move, nor did his expression shift into the triumph the others expected. He merely sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that didn't belong to a simple son-in-law. "Stand up, Yusuf," Tariq said calmly. "It's been a long time. You've grown quite powerful in Al-Safwa." Yusuf straightened up, his movements worked up and eager, like a dog sensing a scrap of approval from its master. "It is all thanks to your guidance, mentor. I am nothing without what you taught me." Tariq glanced at the classmates huddled near the door, their faces pale with a mixture of terror and confusion. "Let them go. They've had enough excitement for one night. Just let them leave." "Whatever you command," Yusuf said instantly. He turned toward his security detail, his face hardening back into a mask of cold authority. "You heard him! Get them out of here. Now!" The guards didn't need a second order. They moved with clinical efficiency, ushering the stunned alumni out of the private room. Karim Darwish was shoved roughly by the shoulder, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he was forced toward the exit. Sana and Zahra followed, cast out of the luxury they had been so desperate to claim, leaving Tariq alone with the man who had once been his student. Outside the Al-Mass Hotel, the night air was cool, but it did little to soothe the shock radiating through the group. They stood on the sidewalk, the neon lights of the hotel's sign reflecting in the polished paint of the luxury cars parked nearby. Zahra rubbed her arms, a murmur of surprise escaping her lips. "How... how does Tariq know someone like Yusuf Saleh? The owner called him 'mentor.' Did we all just see that?" Sana Khoury leaned against a pillar, her gaze fixed on the hotel's grand entrance. A whisper of wonder escaped her. "He never said a word. All those jokes about his scooter, about him being a loser... and the most powerful man in the city bows to him." Karim Darwish's face was a mottled shade of purple. The humiliation of being unable to pay the bill, combined with the sight of Tariq being honored, was a poison in his veins. He looked at his classmates, his voice bitter and flustered as he tried to claw back a shred of his dignity. "Don't be fools!" Karim spat, his hands shaking. "You think Tariq Mansour is some secret power? Open your eyes! He's a hustler. He probably worked here as a busboy or a janitor years ago and did some favor for Yusuf. They're colluding! It was a setup to scam us, to make us look small so he could feel big for once in his pathetic life." He looked around, desperate for agreement, for someone to validate the lie. "It's a performance! A son-in-law like him doesn't just become a 'mentor' to a man like Yusuf Saleh overnight. He's a fraud!" Zahra turned to him, snorting with pure derision. "A performance? Yusuf Saleh almost crawled on the floor for him, Karim. If that's acting, he deserves an Oscar. You're just mad because your card declined and the 'loser' had to save your skin." The other classmates lingered for a moment, their faces twisted in conflict. Some muttered curses under their breath, directed at Tariq for the embarrassment of the night, while others simply turned away in shame. One by one, they began to disperse, leaving the hotel grounds in a hurry, eager to escape the shadow of a man they no longer understood. Back in the private room, the silence was respectful. Yusuf Saleh stood by the large floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the retreating figures of Tariq's classmates. "They are ungrateful, mentor," Yusuf said, his tone direct and protective. "They insulted you in your own city. If you wish, I can deal with them. By tomorrow morning, Karim Darwish won't have a job or a reputation left in Al-Safwa." Tariq stayed seated, a small, faint smile playing on his lips. He didn't take the insults to heart; they were the buzzing of insects compared to the weight of the Mansour Corporation now resting on his shoulders. "Let it go, Yusuf. They're just people living in their own small worlds. It doesn't matter." Yusuf bowed his head. "Your heart is as vast as it was three years ago." Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the shrill, aggressive ringtone of Tariq's phone. He pulled it out, seeing Lina Haddad's name flashing on the screen. He braced himself and answered. "Tariq! Where are you?" Lina's voice yelled through the speaker, so loud that Yusuf could hear the sharp edges of her anger. "Do you have any idea what time it is? The guests are gone, and the downstairs toilet is still filthy! I told you to scrub it before tonight! Get your useless hide back here right now and start washing, or don't bother coming back at all!" The line went dead before Tariq could respond. Tariq stood up abruptly, the calm, commanding presence he had shown Yusuf evaporating in the face of his domestic reality. He remembered the chores he had neglected in the rush of the day's events. If the toilet wasn't clean, the peace in the Farsi household would be non-existent. "I have to go," Tariq said, already moving toward the door. "Mentor? Is everything alright?" Yusuf asked, confused by the sudden shift in the man he revered. "I have work to do," Tariq called back over his shoulder. He ran through the lobby of the Al-Mass Hotel, ignoring the startled looks from the staff. He reached the parking area, unlocked his electric bike, and kicked up the kickstand. With a twist of the throttle, the silent motor hummed to life. Yusuf Saleh watched from the balcony as the man who could command millions, the man who had just been named CEO of a massive corporation, disappeared into the night on a battered electric bike, racing home to scrub a bathroom floor. Tariq leaned into the turn, his mind racing. He had the power of the Mansour family back in his hands, but as he sped through the streets of Al-Safwa, he knew his double life was becoming a tightrope. He just needed to get home before Lina lost her temper completely. As he crossed the main intersection, the bright headlights of a luxury Al-Buraq swung around the corner, heading straight for the path of his bike. ════════════════════════════════════════