Chapter 6 - THE EMPTY COFFIN
By noon, Hassan had authorized something he once said he would never permit.
His brother’s grave was opened.
Leïla watched from beneath a gray sky as workers lifted the coffin from the family mausoleum.
Malik stood several feet away.
His face looked carved from stone.
“You think my father’s corpse climbed out and opened the archive?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
The coffin lid came loose.
The family lawyer turned away.
Karim covered his mouth.
Inside lay Omar Rahmani’s remains.
His suit.
His watch.
His wedding ring.
But the velvet pocket where Hassan remembered placing the duplicate key was empty.
Malik stared.
“Someone opened the coffin.”
Farid shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“What does that mean?”
“It could have been removed before burial.”
“By whom?”
Farid looked at Hassan.
Hassan’s face hardened.
“I put it there myself.”
Malik stepped forward.
“You expect us to believe you remember a key from five years ago but can’t remember how your blood reached Samira’s door?”
Hassan lunged.
Karim caught him.
“Enough!”
Malik didn’t move.
“Maybe Uncle Hassan didn’t kill Samira’s mother. Maybe he just spent twenty-eight years helping whoever did.”
Hassan’s fist tightened.
Leïla stepped between them.
“Stop.”
She turned to Farid.
“Who prepared Omar’s body for burial?”
“Private funeral staff.”
“Palace employees?”
“Some.”
“Names.”
Farid checked his phone.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“One person on the burial preparation list still works here.”
Leïla already had a feeling.
Farid said it anyway.
“Naïma.”
Twenty minutes later they returned to the medical wing.
Naïma was awake.
Weak.
Pale.
But conscious.
Leïla sat beside her.
“Naïma.”
Naïma opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I need the truth.”
A tear slipped toward her ear.
“I tried.”
“Did you remove Omar’s key before he was buried?”
Naïma closed her eyes.
That was answer enough.
Karim cursed softly behind Leïla.
“Why?”
Naïma’s voice was barely audible.
“Because he told me to.”
“Omar?”
“Yes.”
“Before he died?”
Naïma nodded.
“He said someone would come for it.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Where did you put the key?”
Naïma’s breathing became faster.
“Safe deposit box.”
“Which bank?”
“I removed it three years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Malik asked questions.”
Malik stared at her.
“I never asked you about a key.”
Naïma looked genuinely confused.
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You came to my home.”
“I have never been to your home.”
Naïma stared at him.
Her confusion turned to fear.
Leïla felt the pieces shift.
“Who came to your house?”
Naïma whispered, “It looked like Malik.”
Malik’s eyes widened.
“What does that mean?”
Naïma struggled to sit up.
“He had your face.”
Karim shook his head.
“This is insane.”
Naïma grabbed Leïla’s wrist.
“Not your cousin.”
“What?”
“Omar’s other son.”
The room went dead quiet.
Malik stepped forward.
“My father had no other son.”
Naïma began crying.
“Yes.”
Malik shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Naïma looked at him.
“Your brother.”
She swallowed.
“His name is Yassin.”
Malik stared at her as if she had spoken another language.
May you like
Then Naïma whispered the sentence that changed everything.
“And he works inside this palace.”
