Chapter 8

Kamal Al-Khoury smoothed the lapels of his designer jacket, his eyes darting from Rana Ghazi to the man standing awkwardly beside her. He let out a sharp, barking laugh that drew the attention of the other marketing department staff. "Rana, really, your husband is quite the character," Kamal said, his voice dripping with condescension. "I didn't know the delivery business was so lucrative these days that one could afford to just loiter around the Al-Karam Residence." Rana's face flushed a deep crimson. She shifted her weight, her heels clicking sharply against the polished pavement of the entrance plaza. Her colleagues, usually a boisterous bunch, had gone silent, watching the scene with a mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment. Rana bit her lip, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over Tariq's shoulder. "Tariq, go back quickly," Rana said. Her voice was level, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her. She didn't look at him. "The hospital is where you need to be." Kamal stepped forward, placing himself between Tariq and the direction of the parking lot. "Don't go, Tariq. Why don't you have a meal with us? Your wife just signed a one hundred thousand dollars worth of contract yesterday—something you can never achieve with ten years of delivery service. Don't you want to celebrate together?" Tariq looked at Kamal's smug expression. He thought of the phone call he'd made to Fahd Abbas, the pressure he'd applied to ensure Adnan Jabir signed that very contract. The irony was a bitter weight in his chest. He felt the urge to simply walk away, to leave these people to their petty posturing, but Kamal's hand was already hovering near his arm, blocking his path. "No need," Tariq replied calmly, meeting Kamal's eyes. "I still have to go to the hospital. Layla needs me." "Oh, come now, one meal won't hurt," Kamal insisted, his fingers gripping Tariq's sleeve and tugging him toward the ornate revolving doors of the Al-Karam Residence. "We're all colleagues here. Well, we're Rana's colleagues. You're... the support staff, I suppose." As they were funneled into the lavish lobby, the group of colleagues began to buzz with excitement. The interior was a masterclass in opulence, with marble floors that reflected the glittering crystal chandeliers above. A beautifully dressed woman, one of the junior executives, leaned toward Rana with a look of genuine shock. "Deputy Manager Ghazi, you mentioned that you closed this deal because someone has helped you? Who was it? To get Al-Nasr Pharmaceutical to buckle like that... it's incredible." Rana sighed, the mention of the contract bringing a flicker of professional pride back to her eyes, though it was dampened by Tariq's presence. "Adnan Jabir of Al-Nasr was giving me a hard time. You guys, too, know that he had been trying to ask me out for meals. I was at my wit's end. But yesterday, after getting a phone call, he suddenly said that he would sign the contract and had even sincerely apologized to me. I'm still not entirely sure who made that call." She glanced at Tariq for a fleeting second, a subconscious reflex, before quickly looking away. The idea that her husband, a man who struggled to pay hospital bills, could influence a man like Adnan Jabir was a thought she didn't allow herself to finish. Another woman in the group, sensing the awkwardness and deciding to twist the knife, squealed intentionally. "Wow, who's this that has a crush on our deputy manager? To even help you with this hundred thousand dollar contract! They must be someone very powerful. Certainly not someone who spends his day on a motorbike." The snickers from the group were muffled but audible. Tariq remained silent, his expression unreadable as they approached the reception desk. Kamal Al-Khoury's confident stride faltered as he looked at the sign prominently displayed near the host stand. His expression shifted into one of conflicted frustration. He turned back to the expectant crowd, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can't eat here," Kamal announced, his voice losing its boastful edge. "They require reservations, and only members can walk-in. I forgot how strict they are about the membership policy." Rana looked at the opulent dining room beyond the velvet ropes. She knew the reputation of this place. A membership required a minimum annual spending of one million dollars. It was a playground for the elite, not a place for a department celebration on a whim. "What do we do?" Rana asked, her voice troubled. "Shall we switch to another place?" The disappointment among the colleagues was instantaneous. "Huh? Are you serious, Kamal Al-Khoury?" one man complained, throwing his hands up. "We've come all this way! I told my wife I was eating at Al-Karam tonight." "Kamal, think of something," another urged. "I heard that the food at Al-Karam Residence is especially delicious. Can't you use your influence?" "If it really can't be helped, then let's switch to someplace else," a third colleague muttered, though the lack of enthusiasm was palpable. Kamal shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Why don't we switch to Al-Sharif Manor? This place requires a reservation, so I can't do anything. It's just the way it is." Zahra Jawad, Kamal's secretary, stepped forward. She was wearing a short skirt that emphasized her long legs, and she hooked her arm coquettishly through Kamal's. She looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Kamal, it's my first time here. Didn't you say that you know the manager here? Get him to open up an extra table for us. You're so well-connected, surely you can do this one thing?" Kamal's face turned a shade of purple. He looked at the host, who was watching them with a polite, vacant stare that signaled no exceptions would be made. "Uhm... Isn't that a little inappropriate? Let's not trouble them and move to Al-Sharif Manor. It'll be my treat." Rana stepped forward, offering a small, apologetic bow to Kamal. "I'm sorry, I'll treat at Al-Sharif Manor. I was supposed to treat anyway, so I don't want to trouble you, Kamal." Tariq watched Rana. He saw the way her shoulders slumped, the way she was forced to apologize for a situation she hadn't created, and the way her colleagues were looking at her with redirected frustration. He reached into his pocket and felt the cool, heavy edge of the card Jamal Hale had given him. "I have a membership card," Tariq said. His voice wasn't loud, but in the sudden lull of the conversation, it carried to everyone in the group. "Do you guys want to use it?" The silence that followed was absolute for exactly three seconds. Kamal Al-Khoury was the first to break it. He looked at Tariq with a sinister, mocking grin. "You have a membership? Tariq, it wouldn't kill you if you didn't lie. Do you know where this is? Al-Karam Residence! Membership requires a minimum spending of one million a year! Do you even have a million cents in your bank account?" Rana whirled around, her face pale with a mix of anger and pure mortification. She stepped close to Tariq, her voice a harsh, hurried whisper. "What are you doing? Stop this. Go back to the hospital to keep Layla company. Stop making things worse." Tariq saw the moisture shimmering in Rana's eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer heat of her embarrassment. He realized then that she didn't want his help; she wanted him to disappear so she could salvage what was left of her dignity. He took a half-step back, ready to turn and leave. But Kamal wasn't finished. Seeing an opportunity to utterly destroy Tariq's standing, he spoke up loudly. "Deputy Manager Ghazi, what's the rush? Since your husband says he has a membership card, just let him book a table for us. I'd love to see the kind of 'membership' a delivery man carries." Rana turned on Tariq, her voice cold and suppressing a mounting rage. "Tariq, stop fooling around! Hurry up and go back! Now!" Tariq didn't move. He looked at Rana, seeing the woman he had loved for seven years, the woman who was currently being ridiculed because of his perceived status. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum card. The light from the chandeliers caught the metallic sheen of the surface, making it glow with an unmistakable luster. "Rana," Tariq said calmly. "I do have a membership card." He held it out. The group crowded in, their eyes widening as they saw the intricate engravings and the weight of the material. Kamal Al-Khoury let out a derisive snort, though his eyes narrowed as he inspected the card from a distance. "Tariq, this isn't the membership card for delivery men, is it?" Kamal asked, his voice dripping with feigned concern. "It won't be right to con someone with this. Where did you find this? In a pile of trash on your route?" Zahra Jawad stepped forward, her heels clicking aggressively. She reached out and snatched the card from Tariq's hand with an arrogant flick of her wrist. "Since Deputy Manager Ghazi's husband says it's a membership card, let's try it. Let's see if the machine recognizes 'The King of Deliveries.'" Rana looked at the card in Zahra's hand, then back at Tariq. Her chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath. The humiliation was total now. There was no coming back from this "act" once the staff rejected the card. "Tariq, you're just too disappointing!" Rana hissed, giving him a vicious glare that promised a reckoning later. Behind her, the colleagues began to snicker and whisper, their phones coming out to record what they were certain would be the most hilarious rejection in the history of Al-Karam Residence. Zahra turned toward the reception desk, the platinum card held high like a trophy of Tariq's impending downfall. ════════════════════════════════════════