—That?
—His father... disappeared.
The world broke.
VI
Don Hassan's room was empty when they arrived at the mansion.
Empty.
There were no signs of an exaggerated fight. There was no blood everywhere. There was no clumsy chaos.
Which was worse.
Because it meant that whoever had taken it knew exactly what they were doing.
A used syringe was on the floor, under the side table.
The monitor had been disconnected.
The security camera in the hallway, cut off after exactly eleven seconds.
Professionals again.
Amira walked around the room as if she were inside a surgical nightmare.
—They couldn't take him for money —she said, more for herself than for Zafir—. My father is not worth a common ransom in this state.
Zafir checked the side window.
—They didn't take him for money.
She looked at him.
He picked up a folder he had found hidden inside the back of an antique chair.
He left her on the bed.
The cover bore Don Hassan's personal seal.
And a handwritten word:
“For Amira.”
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside were documents.
Notarial copies.
Corporate maps.
And in the background...
a photograph.
Amira took it.
And he felt his heart stop.
It was an old photo, almost eleven years old.
His father was in a private hangar.
At her side, a man in a light suit who she instantly recognized as the father of the Alsaba brothers.
And a third...
a man with a dark beard, cold look, onyx ring on his right hand.
Behind the photo, Don Hassan had written a single line:
“If something happens to me, the traitor is not among the children.”
Amira looked up sharply.
—It wasn't Khalil or Amar who started this.
Zafir was already flipping through the rest of the folder.
His expression hardened.
—No.
He took out another document.
A deed of trust.
A hidden structure.
A name appeared repeated on each page like a snake coiled around the heart of everything.
Farid Nassar.
Amira closed her eyes for a second.
I knew him.
Not intimately, but enough.
Farid Nassar.
External advisor.
Investor “friend”.
Trusted man.
Silent presence at high-level dinners for fifteen years.
Always smiling.
Always useful.
Always too close.
—He was the one who convinced my father to accelerate the energy fusion with the State four years ago —Amira said slowly—. And he was also the one who introduced Amar to various security funds.
Zafir nodded.
—And according to this, he controlled shell companies in Dubai, Madrid and Panama. Big enough to buy wills. Discreet enough to disappear inheritances.
Amira felt a cold and clean hatred.
