The cover read:
MERIDIAN PORT SYSTEMS — PROPOSED ACQUISITION VALUE: $900,000,000.
Amara had seen that document before.
Not the polished version lying on the table.
An earlier version.
One that contained a name no one in this room was supposed to notice had disappeared.
Faisal snapped his fingers.
"Are you listening?"
Amara looked up.
"Yes, sir."
"Then speak Arabic."
She hesitated.
Across the table, a gray-haired attorney began smiling. The chief financial officer of Meridian Port Systems leaned forward, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Faisal spread his hands.
"One sentence. Proper Arabic. Not some phrase you memorized from a television program."
The American executive chuckled.
"That million dollars is perfectly safe."
Amara looked toward the contract.
Then back at the billionaire.
"Are you certain you want me to speak Arabic, sir?"
Faisal laughed.
"Absolutely."
She drew a slow breath.
Then she leaned forward just enough for everyone around the table to hear.
In clear, fluent Arabic, she said:
"قبل أن توقّع، اسألهم لماذا اختفى اسم المالك من الصفحة السابعة."
The billionaire stopped smiling.
It wasn't her accent that frightened him.
It was the meaning.
Before you sign, ask them why the owner's name disappeared from page seven.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Faisal slowly turned toward the contract.
His American business partner's face drained of color.
The gray-haired attorney reached toward the leather folder.
"Sir, perhaps we should—"
"Don't touch it."
Faisal's voice had changed completely.
He placed one hand over the document.
Then looked up at Amara.
"Who told you about page seven?"
She remained still.
The chief financial officer attempted a laugh.
"Your Excellency, I believe there's been a misunderstanding."
Faisal ignored him.
He opened the agreement.
Turned one page.
Then another.
His fingers stopped at the seventh page.
The room became so quiet that Amara could hear the faint hum of the air-conditioning system.
The billionaire stared at a paragraph near the bottom.
Then slowly removed his reading glasses.
His expression was no longer amused.
It was frightened.
He looked at Amara again.
"Who are you?"
She swallowed.
For eleven months, she'd imagined this moment.
In those private fantasies, she always answered confidently. She imagined presenting documents, exposing the men responsible for destroying her mother's reputation, and walking away while the entire room realized it had underestimated her.
But now that the moment had arrived, she felt her hands trembling beneath the sleeves of her abaya.
Because she knew something the billionaire didn't.