Chapter 7 - THE BROTHER NOBODY KNEW
They searched personnel files for Yassin.
Nothing.
No employee.
No contractor.
No guard.
No driver.
No technician.
Nobody by that name had worked at the palace in twenty years.
“Maybe Naïma is confused,” Karim said.
Malik stared at him.
“She was shot, not senile.”
Farid pulled older employment records.
Leïla stood beside him inside the security command room.
Hundreds of staff photographs appeared across the monitors.
“Naïma said he works here,” Leïla said. “That doesn’t mean he uses his real name.”
Farid nodded.
“Give me family resemblance software.”
Malik looked disgusted.
“You have that?”
“We protect a family with several hundred employees. Yes.”
They entered Malik’s photograph.
The software began comparing facial structure across current palace staff.
Eyes.
Jawline.
Nose bridge.
Ear shape.
Minutes passed.
Then one result appeared.
Similarity: 71%.
A man named Rami Saleh.
Age thirty-eight.
Senior electrical systems engineer.
Employed eleven years.
Security clearance: Level Three.
Leïla stared at his photograph.
He did not look exactly like Malik.
But around the eyes?
Enough.
Malik whispered, “I know him.”
Karim turned.
“From where?”
“He repaired the power system at my house two years ago.”
Leïla’s blood cooled.
“Personally?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have access to your office?”
Malik looked at her.
“For three days.”
Farid was already moving.
“Find Rami.”
Security teams spread through the palace.
Rami’s office was empty.
His locker contained work clothes, tools, and nothing suspicious.
Then one officer discovered a false panel behind the electrical schematics.
Inside were three burner phones.
A duplicate access badge.
Two passport photographs of Malik.
And a silicone facial appliance shaped around Malik’s cheeks and jaw.
Karim stared.
“He really impersonated him.”
Leïla picked up one passport photograph.
“That’s how Naïma thought Malik came to her house.”
Farid’s phone rang.
“Where?”
He listened.
“We’re going.”
They followed him down two flights of stairs and through an unused service corridor.
A steel door stood open.
Inside was a maintenance room filled with electrical controls.
Rami was gone.
But someone had transformed the back wall into a surveillance station.
Photographs covered it.
Hassan.
Leïla.
Karim.
Malik.
Naïma.
Samira.
Every one taken secretly.
Some inside private bedrooms.
Some inside offices.
Some through car windows.
Leïla felt sick.
Then Karim noticed a timeline.
Dates connected by red lines.
Dalia Haddad.
Omar Rahmani.
Hassan.
Samira.
At the center was a handwritten phrase.
WHAT WAS TAKEN FROM MY MOTHER WILL BE RETURNED TO ME.
Malik stared at it.
“My father had another family.”
Farid searched the drawers.
He found a folder.
Inside were copies of Hassan’s new will.
Leïla’s stolen personal code.
Naïma’s home address.
And photographs of Samira entering the West Wing.
Then Leïla saw one picture underneath the others.
Samira sitting in a café with Rami.
Not secretly photographed.
She was looking directly at him.
Smiling.
Karim frowned.
“She knew him.”
Leïla flipped it over.
Writing covered the back.
SAMIRA - FINAL PHASE.
Below it was a date.
Tonight.
And a time.
23:00.
Karim checked his watch.
“What happens at eleven?”
Nobody knew.
Then Hassan called.
His voice sounded strange.
Weak.
“Leïla.”
“Father?”
“There’s someone in my room.”
A crash came through the phone.
“Hassan!”
Leïla heard him gasp.
Then another voice spoke.
A man.
Calm.
Close to the phone.
“Bring the original will.”
Leïla froze.
“Who is this?”
The man laughed softly.
May you like
“You already found my room.”
Then the call ended.
