Chapter 6

Tariq pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen's glow reflecting the fatigue in his eyes as he leaned against the hospital corridor wall. He dialed a number he had avoided for years. "Fahd, I need you to investigate a project," Tariq said as soon as the call connected. "It's at Al-Minara Pharmaceutical. My wife, Rana Ghazi, is handling it. Find out who the client is and what the holdup is." There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind of silence that suggested Fahd Abbas was signaling his secretary to pull up records immediately. "Young Master," Fahd's voice came through, thick with its usual respectful gravity. "Al-Minara Pharmaceutical is one of the companies that the Murad family invests in. I'll get President Hall of Al-Minara Pharmaceutical to visit you personally to explain the situation." "No need to," Tariq replied, his voice calm but firm. "Investigate quickly and have the client smoothen the whole process so that they won't give Rana a hard time. That's all I want." Tariq leaned his head back against the cold tile. A bitter realization washed over him. For seven years, he had lived as a delivery man, scraping for pennies while his wife endured the arrogance of middle-management thugs. If he had stepped into his inheritance sooner, Rana wouldn't be out late tonight, begging for signatures from people who weren't fit to carry her shoes. His father's shadow was vast; a single word from the Murad family could move mountains, yet he had chosen to live in the dirt. "Young Master," Fahd spoke up again, "I recommend you to just buy over that client's company. You don't lack the money. It would be cleaner." "What the f*ck! Buy over?" Tariq's eyes snapped open, his voice rising in indignant hushed tones. "As expected of a butler from a wealthy family. Oh Fahd, old man, do you really talk this big now? It's called being low profile, do you understand? If I wanted to buy it, would I have waited until now?" "My apologies, Young Master," Fahd said, sounding slightly sheepishly. "I was merely thinking of the most efficient path. Please give me ten minutes. I will resolve this." The line went dead. At the summit of Al-Minara Tower, Derrick Hall sat in the president's office, nursing a glass of expensive scotch. When his private line rang, showing the ID of Fahd Abbas's office, his hand shook so violently that liquid splashed onto his mahogany desk. He fumbled the phone to his ear, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Hello, Fahd Abbas, do you need me for something?" Derrick stammered, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and desperate excitement. To be called directly by the Chairman of the Murad Group was a life-altering event. "President Hall," a voice answered, but it wasn't the secretary. It was Fahd himself, his tone forbidding and cold. "It's not me who wants something from you, but my young master." Derrick's breath hitched. He nearly dropped the phone. "The Young Master?" The Murad family's heir was a myth, a ghost that loomed over the global economy. Derrick's collar felt suddenly three sizes too small. "Then, what would the young lord like from me?" Derrick asked, his voice barely a whisper, choosing every word as if he were walking through a minefield. "There's a Rana Ghazi in your company," Fahd stated neutrally. "Who is the client she has been in contact with lately?" "I... I will check immediately! Please hold!" Derrick didn't wait for his assistant. He bolted from his office, his dress shoes skidding on the polished floor as he sprinted toward the marketing department. He burst through the double doors, gasping for air. The late-shift employees stared at him in shock. "Where is Deputy Manager Ghazi?" Derrick roared at a startled staff member standing near the printers. "She... she went out for a business discussion, Mr. Hall," the employee stammered. "Who is the client?" Derrick demanded, looming over the desk. "Adnan Jabir of Al-Nasr Pharmaceutical." Derrick didn't say thank you. He scrambled back to his phone, his face pale. "Fahd Abbas, it's Adnan Jabir from Al-Nasr Pharmaceutical. He's the one." "Alright, got it," Fahd replied and disconnected. Derrick sank into his chair, his forehead slick with sweat. He didn't know what Adnan Jabir had done, but he knew the man was already a walking corpse. Ten minutes later, Tariq's phone buzzed. "Young Master, everything has been taken care of," Fahd reported. "Okay," Tariq said, watching a nurse wheel a cart past him. "Don't tell Rana about this, and shut everyone else up. I don't want to hear even a peep about it. If she finds out it was me, it defeats the purpose." "Understood." Tariq tucked the phone away and let out a long, weary sigh. He smiled bitterly at his reflection in the glass door of the ward. If Rana knew that the "useless" husband she was currently resenting had just dismantled her biggest obstacle with a ten-minute phone call, she probably wouldn't even believe it. She'd think he was playing some elaborate prank. *** In a private dining room at Al-Manzil Hotel, the air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne. Adnan Jabir, his face flushed a deep, drunken red, leaned across the table toward Rana Ghazi. "Come on, Rana," Adnan slurred, his eyes roaming over her with predatory intent. "A million-dollar contract. All you have to do is be a little... friendlier. Is your delivery boy husband really worth all this stress?" He reached out, his greasy hand sliding toward Rana's arm. Rana recoiled, her face pale with disgust. When his hand gripped her wrist, her instinct took over. *Slap!* The sound echoed through the room. Adnan's head snapped to the side. He froze, his hand slowly rising to his stinging cheek. He turned back to her, his expression twisting into a mask of pure malice. "You b*tch, how dare you slap me!" Adnan growled. He stood up, knocking his chair over, and raised his hand to strike her back. Rana flinched, closing her eyes, but the blow never came. Instead, a shrill ringing erupted from Adnan's pocket. He hesitated, his chest heaving. He snarled and pulled out his phone. "Who's this?!" he roared into the receiver. "Adnan Jabir! Is that how you should be speaking to me?" Adnan's face went from red to white in an instant. The drunken haze evaporated. "Hakim Zaki? Sir! I'm sorry, so sorry. A few promoters kept calling me just now. What do you want with me?" "You're asking me?" Hakim Zaki's voice was an enraged roar that Rana could hear from across the table. "Did you deliberately try to trouble Deputy Manager Ghazi on our collaboration?" "Sir, I was just—" "You're even asking me this? Are you trying to get yourself fired?" Hakim screamed, his voice breaking with a fit of rage. "Our collaboration with Al-Minara Pharmaceutical is approved! And you better apologize to Deputy Manager Ghazi immediately, in person! Without her forgiveness, don't even think about coming back to the company. You can just scram!" The line went dead. Adnan stood frozen, the phone trembling in his hand. He looked at Rana, who was staring at him in total confusion. The power dynamic in the room shifted so violently it felt like the floor had tilted. Adnan scrambled around the table, nearly tripping over his own feet as Rana turned to leave. "Deputy Manager Ghazi, please wait!" he cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. Rana stopped at the door, her hand on the handle. Adnan skidded to a halt in front of her, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. "Deputy Manager Ghazi, I'm so sorry, I was muddled earlier. The alcohol... it got to my head." He fumbled in his briefcase, pulling out the contract and a pen. "I'll sign our collaboration agreement immediately. Right now! I hope Deputy Manager Ghazi can forgive me for being blinded by desire. Please, I beg you." Rana watched him sign the papers with a shaking hand. She took the document, looking at the signature that she had spent weeks chasing. This contract was worth one hundred thousand dollars in initial fees, and her commission alone would be tens of thousands. It was the breakthrough she needed to pay for Layla's upcoming treatments. "Adnan Jabir," Rana said, her voice trembling slightly. "You mentioned that your chairman has approved of this personally, right?" Adnan looked up at her with a forced, flattering smile, his eyes still wide with fear. "Yes, Deputy Manager Ghazi. You should have told me that you were an acquaintance of Hakim Zaki. We almost had a misunderstanding. A great misunderstanding!" Rana walked out of the hotel into the cool night air, the signed contract clutched to her chest. An acquaintance of Hakim Zaki? She had never even met the man. Her mind raced, searching for an explanation. Then, a thought struck her. Karim Haddad. He had mentioned he had connections. He had been hovering around her lately, offering his "help." It had to be him. Who else possessed that kind of pull? Certainly not Tariq, who was probably sitting in the hospital hallway staring at his empty wallet. A wave of complicated emotion washed over her, followed by a sharpened sting of contempt for her husband. While other men were moving mountains for her, Tariq was just... there. *** The following afternoon, the sun beat down on the Al-Wadi Public Hospital parking lot. Tariq walked out of the main entrance, checking his watch. He had a meeting to attend. As he reached the curb, a sleek, black Al-Fares pulled up silently. The door opened, and Tariq slid into the plush leather interior. On the other side of the parking lot, Farah Ghazi was walking toward the hospital entrance to visit Layla. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth dropping open as she saw a familiar figure climb into the most expensive car she had ever seen in person. "Was that... Tariq?" she whispered to herself. She shook her head violently, a sneer forming on her lips. "No way. That loser probably doesn't even know what an Al-Fares is. He's probably just delivering food to the driver." She dismissed the thought instantly, convinced that her worthless cousin brother-in-law was incapable of even standing near such luxury. Inside the car, Tariq stretched his legs out, the air conditioning a welcome relief from the heat. He looked over at Fahd, who sat straight-backed in the front passenger seat. "Fahd, who are we meeting today? Are they troublesome?" Tariq asked lazily. "Young Master," Fahd replied respectfully, "it won't be troublesome. He's a collector in our country, considered a friend of mine. He has been eager to meet with someone of your stature." Tariq frowned, leaning forward. "Why am I meeting your friend then? Good old Fahd, is this a reenactment of Brokeback Mountain? You're already at this age, and you're still getting involved in things like this?" Fahd didn't miss a beat, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Young Master, this is only a small business worth a billion. You need to learn from experience so you can inherit the family fortune as soon as possible. My friend is merely the first step." Tariq stared at him, stunned. "A billion dollars? And you call that small business?" He shook his head, leaning back into the seat. "You've really spent too much time around the Murads, old man. You're getting pretentious." The Al-Fares glided away from the hospital, merging into the afternoon traffic as Tariq prepared to step into a world where a billion dollars was considered a training exercise. ════════════════════════════════════════