She'd imagined an apology several times since the dinner.
But she'd also learned that apologies could be used to close conversations people didn't want to continue.
She nodded.
"Thank you for saying that."
Faisal waited.
Then she added.
"I hope you'll also understand why I couldn't remain silent about the agreement."
He looked toward the documents.
"I believe I'm beginning to."
For a moment, his expression became sad.
Then he said quietly.
"My brother would have been very disappointed if I'd signed without checking."
Amara didn't answer immediately.
She remembered the notes her mother kept about Khalid.
The foreign investor who insisted the community's ownership rights remain visible in both languages.
Finally, she said.
"My mother respected your brother."
Faisal looked up sharply.
"Your mother?"
Amara nodded.
"She was one of the engineers who helped develop the original Harbor Nine arrangements."
For several seconds, the billionaire stared.
Then he whispered.
"What was her name?"
Amara told him.
His face changed.
He looked toward Mariam.
Then back at Amara.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Finally, he said.
"I remember her."
Faisal had met Amara's mother during an early Harbor Nine site visit.
She was wearing a yellow safety vest and carrying an enormous folder of engineering diagrams. Khalid introduced her as the person who could explain why the terminal's energy systems needed independent backup arrangements.
Faisal remembered that she'd argued with an executive who wanted to reduce redundancy costs.
The man claimed the additional equipment was too expensive.
Amara's mother asked him how much spoiled food, damaged cargo, and lost wages would cost during a prolonged outage.
The executive began discussing probability models.
She listened.
Then pointed toward a diagram showing how the terminal's power systems could isolate failures before they spread.
Faisal remembered being impressed.
Not because she agreed with everyone.
Because she understood the practical consequences of a financial decision.
Now he sat across from her daughter.
A young woman he'd humiliated because she was carrying coffee.
The irony was painful.
He looked toward Amara.
"She was a remarkable engineer."
Amara's eyes filled.
"Yes."
He hesitated.
"I didn't know she had passed away."
Amara nodded.
"Three years ago."
For a moment, the room became quiet.
Then Faisal said softly.
"I'm sorry."
Amara looked down at her hands.
She wasn't accustomed to speaking about her mother with men who held enormous financial power.
For years, Meridian's leadership treated her mother's legacy as an administrative inconvenience.
Now the buyer was remembering her as a person.