Chapter 8 - THE SON IN THE SHADOWS
Hassan’s bedroom was empty when security reached it.
One broken glass.
A small blood smear.
No Hassan.
No attacker.
The private elevator had been disabled for four minutes.
Just long enough.
Leïla stood in the center of the room.
“He knows the palace systems better than security.”
Farid looked furious.
“He helped install half of them.”
Karim’s phone rang.
A text.
Unknown number.
23:00.
WEST COURTYARD.
BRING ORIGINAL SUCCESSION FILE.
NO SECURITY.
OR YOUR FATHER DIES.
Malik read over his shoulder.
“He wants the will.”
“No,” Leïla said.
Everyone looked at her.
“He already has copies.”
“So?”
“He wants something inside the original.”
Farid nodded slowly.
“Maybe proof of authenticity.”
Leïla shook her head.
“Or something hidden with it.”
They searched Hassan’s private archive.
The succession file contained the will, share-transfer documents, trust amendments, DNA report, and several sealed letters.
One envelope was addressed to Samira.
Leïla opened it.
Karim objected.
“That’s hers.”
“She may be dead.”
He stopped.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Hassan.
Samira,
I cannot give you the childhood you lost. I cannot undo the fear your mother endured. I can only tell the truth now.
Your mother did not leave willingly.
Omar forced her out.
Leïla’s breath caught.
She read on.
He threatened her with prison, threatened her family, and forged the death certificate that convinced me you were gone.
Years later, I learned enough to suspect the truth, but by then Dalia had disappeared completely.
I was a coward. I should have looked harder.
The next line made Leïla sit down.
Omar did not act alone.
Someone inside my own household helped him.
I believe that person is still here.
Karim looked toward Naïma’s office in the distance.
“Naïma?”
“No,” Leïla said.
“Why?”
“Because Naïma helped hide the key. Hassan wouldn’t write this if he already knew it was her.”
Malik stood by the window.
“My father was worse than I knew.”
Leïla continued reading.
Dalia eventually escaped with you, but she lived under false names for years.
Before her death, she sent me one final package.
Inside was a photograph.
Leïla searched the envelope.
Nothing.
“The photograph is missing.”
Farid turned.
“What photograph?”
“Hassan doesn’t say.”
Karim checked the file.
“Could Rami know about it?”
“Probably.”
Malik whispered, “If he’s Omar’s son, maybe the photograph proves something about his mother.”
Farid looked at the wall clock.
18:42.
They had four hours.
Leïla called Naïma from the medical unit.
“Who was Yassin’s mother?”
Naïma stayed silent.
“Naïma.”
“A woman named Salma.”
“Palace staff?”
“Yes.”
“What job?”
Naïma began crying again.
“She worked for your mother.”
Leïla felt a chill.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Salma?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
Naïma whispered, “Three days after Dalia.”
Leïla’s mind raced.
Two women.
Both connected to Hassan and Omar.
Both disappeared.
One had Samira.
The other had Rami—or Yassin.
“Why?”
Naïma hesitated.
“Because Salma saw what Omar did.”
Leïla stood.
“What did she see?”
“She saw him force Dalia into a car.”
Leïla closed her eyes.
“And Salma tried to help?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Omar found out.”
Leïla whispered, “Where did Salma go?”
Naïma made a sound like she was trying not to sob.
“She never left.”
Leïla stopped breathing.
May you like
“What?”
Naïma whispered, “They buried her beneath the old greenhouse.”
