Chapter 13 - THE MAN WHO WROTE EVERY LIE

Idris Ben Amar had written every Rahmani will for thirty-six years.

He had attended Leïla’s graduation.

Karim’s wedding.

Omar’s funeral.

Their mother’s burial.

He knew every secret because the family had paid him to protect them.

Leïla stared at him.

“You helped Omar.”

Idris adjusted his cuffs.

“Omar was careless.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Yes.”

The word landed quietly.

Karim looked sick.

“You helped kidnap Dalia?”

“I arranged transportation.”

“You helped hide Salma’s body?”

“I arranged silence.”

Rami watched him without emotion.

Leïla turned to Rami.

“You knew.”

“Eventually.”

“Why work with him?”

Rami laughed softly.

“Because monsters are useful when you understand what they want.”

Idris frowned.

“I would be careful with that word.”

Rami aimed the gun slightly toward him.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

For the first time, Leïla saw tension between them.

Good.

She needed it.

Idris spoke to Leïla.

“Your father was never strong enough to protect this family.”

“He protected you.”

“No. I protected him.”

“You buried murder.”

“I prevented collapse.”

Karim stepped forward.

“A woman died.”

“One woman.”

Karim stared in disbelief.

Idris continued.

“Thousands of employees depended on the Rahmani companies. Governments depended on those contracts. Banks. Ports. Projects. Omar made a terrible mistake.”

“A mistake?” Leïla said.

Idris shrugged.

“I handled it.”

Rami’s jaw tightened.

Leïla saw it.

Idris didn’t understand.

To him Salma was still a problem from an old file.

To Rami she was his mother.

Leïla asked, “Did Hassan know?”

“Enough.”

“How much?”

“He knew Salma was dead.”

“And Dalia?”

“He knew she had been forced out.”

“But Omar convinced him the baby died.”

“Yes.”

Leïla felt a sharp mixture of anger and grief.

Hassan wasn’t innocent.

But he hadn’t designed the lie.

Idris had.

“Why help Rami now?”

Idris smiled.

“Because Hassan’s new will was unacceptable.”

“To whom?”

“To everyone who actually keeps the empire functioning.”

“You.”

“And others.”

Karim laughed bitterly.

“So this is about money.”

“It is about continuity.”

Leïla almost admired how men like Idris renamed greed until it sounded respectable.

“If Samira inherited the controlling block,” Idris continued, “she could dismantle decades of agreements overnight.”

“She could also keep them.”

“She is unpredictable.”

“She’s a person.”

“Exactly.”

Rami looked toward Idris.

“That’s what you said about my mother.”

Idris looked at him.

“I said Salma was emotional.”

Rami’s face went blank.

A dangerous kind of blank.

“You remember her?”

“Of course.”

“What did she say before she died?”

Idris sighed.

“This isn’t the time.”

“What did she say?”

“Rami.”

“What did my mother say?”

Idris lost patience.

“She begged.”

Nobody moved.

Rami’s hand began shaking.

Idris continued, annoyed.

“People always beg when consequences arrive.”

Rami lifted the gun.

Leïla shouted, “No!”

He fired.

Idris spun and crashed against the courtroom table.

The bullet struck his shoulder.

Not fatal.

But the shot triggered chaos.

Karim tackled Rami.

Leïla kicked the gun away.

Idris crawled toward it.

Leïla stepped on his hand.

He screamed.

Karim and Rami crashed through two chairs.

Then an alarm sounded.

The countdown.

00:45.

Leïla froze.

“Samira!”

Farid’s voice came through her radio.

“We triggered suppression in Hassan’s chamber.”

“And Samira?”

A pause.

“Her system is different.”

“How long?”

“Thirty seconds.”

Leïla looked at Rami.

“Stop it.”

He wiped blood from his mouth.

“Too late.”

“STOP IT!”

Rami laughed.

“I can’t.”

Leïla grabbed his shirt.

“Where is the override?”

“No override.”

“Where?”

“I said there isn’t one!”

Then Idris started laughing from the floor.

Everyone turned.

Blood covered his shoulder.

But he was smiling.

“Of course there is.”

Leïla stared at him.

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Idris whispered:

“I built it.”