Chapter 12 - THE CHOICE
Leïla refused to choose.
Rami laughed through the speaker.
“That sounds noble.”
“I’m not bringing you the will.”
“Then both die.”
“No.”
“You think you control this?”
“I think you’ve spent twenty-eight years believing our family took your choices away.”
Silence.
Leïla stepped closer to the wall camera.
“And now you’re doing the same thing.”
Karim whispered, “Leïla.”
She ignored him.
“You want justice for Salma?”
Rami answered.
“Yes.”
“Then why kill Samira?”
“She betrayed me.”
“She refused to murder someone for you.”
“She chose Hassan.”
“No. She chose herself.”
Silence again.
Leïla pressed.
“You don’t want justice.”
Rami’s breathing became audible.
“You want witnesses to hurt the way you hurt.”
“That family buried my mother.”
“Hassan did.”
“Your family.”
“Omar killed her.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re about to become him.”
The speaker went dead.
Farid looked at Leïla.
“You made him angry.”
“That was the point.”
“Why?”
“Angry people change plans.”
A click sounded.
The door ahead unlocked.
Karim stared.
“You’re insane.”
Leïla pushed it open.
“No. He wants me to think I won.”
They moved.
The bunker split into three corridors.
Farid sent two guards left.
Another right.
Leïla, Karim, Malik, and Farid went center.
Malik had insisted on joining them.
“This started with my father,” he said. “I’m finishing it.”
They reached a control chamber.
Empty.
Monitors showed dozens of palace rooms.
The private library.
Bedrooms.
Security offices.
Even Naïma’s medical room.
“She was never safe,” Leïla whispered.
Farid noticed one feed.
“South chamber.”
Hassan.
Another feed.
“East chamber.”
Samira.
Both were real.
Both had countdown clocks.
09:14.
Karim pointed.
“Can you stop them?”
Farid worked at the console.
“No. Rami isolated the system.”
Malik opened a cabinet.
Inside sat the original master electrical schematics.
He studied them.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“These rooms share ventilation.”
Farid looked.
“So?”
“So if he plans to burn one chamber, there must be fire suppression.”
Leïla understood.
“If we trigger suppression manually—”
“We buy time.”
Malik ran toward the utility corridor.
Farid followed.
Karim grabbed Leïla.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Rami.”
“You don’t know where he is.”
“Yes, I do.”
She pointed at the surveillance monitors.
One camera was missing.
Not disabled.
Removed.
The feed label read:
OLD COURTROOM.
The palace had once contained a private arbitration chamber.
Omar used it constantly.
Leïla understood the symbolism.
Rami wanted his judgment there.
She ran.
Karim followed.
They reached the old courtroom with six minutes remaining.
The door opened.
Rami stood alone at the far end.
No weapon visible.
He looked almost ordinary.
Dark hair.
Gray work shirt.
A face that vaguely mirrored Malik’s.
He held a folder.
Not the will.
A photograph.
“Stay there,” he said.
Leïla stopped.
“Where is my father?”
“You know.”
“Release them.”
“Bring me the original.”
“No.”
Rami smiled sadly.
“Then you haven’t changed.”
“What?”
“Rahmanis always protect paper before people.”
Leïla reached inside her jacket.
Karim whispered, “Don’t.”
She removed the succession file.
Rami’s eyes widened.
“You brought it.”
“Yes.”
Karim stared at her.
She had taken it without telling anyone.
Leïla held it over an antique oil lamp burning beside the courtroom wall.
Rami’s expression changed.
“What are you doing?”
“You think this is what gives you power?”
“Put it down.”
“You want the inheritance?”
“Leïla.”
She lowered the corner toward the flame.
“Release them.”
Rami pulled a gun.
Karim froze.
Leïla did not.
Rami aimed at her chest.
“I said put it down.”
Behind him, another door opened.
A figure stepped into the courtroom.
Leïla expected Farid.
It wasn’t.
Their family lawyer, Idris Ben Amar, walked inside.
Seventy-one years old.
Hassan’s closest legal adviser for thirty-six years.
He calmly closed the door.
Rami lowered the gun.
Karim stared.
“Idris?”
The old lawyer smiled.
May you like
Then he looked at Rami.
“You should have killed her in Geneva when I told you to.”
