I froze for a second before pulling myself together. This was bad news—the Sheikh’s fury told me the case had just taken a darker turn.
The thief wasn’t after jewels alone; he wanted to strike at the Sheikh himself. The real challenge now was to anticipate his next move before more damage was done.
I kept my voice steady. “I’ve got a lead. During your holidays, someone entered your house. No staff admitted seeing anything, but the visitor stayed twenty minutes… and then left.”
The Sheikh stopped mid-rant, his face tightening as he thought. “Do you know where this person lives?”
“Yes. I’m heading there now.”
“Al Noor Tower?” he asked.
The surprise must have shown on my face. He gave a thin smile. “My wife’s sister. She came for clothes.”
Clothes—at midnight? It didn’t add up.
The Sheikh leaned back, explaining: “My wife owns rare pieces—Birkin bags, designer shoes. Salma, her sister, had an important presentation the next morning. She asked to borrow a few things. My wife knew I wouldn’t approve, so she kept it quiet and told the staff not to speak of it.”
His eyes raised to Ben Labna. “But my personal assistant knows everything that happens in this house. He told me.”
“Why not tell me sooner?” I pressed. “It would have saved time. And… are you sure Salma couldn’t be involved? The closet is right next to the safe. If she had the code—”
“She doesn’t,” he cut in. “And my wife would never give it to her. Salma might be shallow, but she wouldn’t steal from us. And she certainly wouldn’t plan this.” He slid the photograph of the stolen necklace across the desk, along with the threatening notes.
“I still want to meet her,” I said.
“I’ll have her come to your office. But you’re wasting your time. Bring me results within twenty-four hours, or you’re fired.”
I stood in my office, the desk at my back, staring out at the glittering sprawl of Dubai. I was waiting for Salma Al Suwaidi.
When the Sheikh summoned her, she had agreed at once. He was, without question, the head of the family.
As I watched the city, my mind circled the case. I was tired of dead ends. The staff? Clean. The main jeweler? Clean. And now it was clear—the thief was only a mask, a pretext to tarnish the Sheikh’s reputation.
The strange maid? Just a young woman with a jealous ex-boyfriend. The midnight intruder? Merely a family errand.
I still wanted to hear Salma for myself, though I had little hope she would add anything.
A knock at the door pulled me back. Paige opened it, and Salma Al Suwaidi entered, poised, composed. She slipped into the chair across from my desk.
After the briefest of greetings, I went straight to it. “Why did you come to the Sheikh’s house at midnight?”
The question hung in the air. Salma’s dark eyes stayed calm, unblinking. Her hands rested neatly in her lap.
“I needed clothes,” she said softly. “Nothing more.”
I leaned back in my chair. “At midnight? You couldn’t wait until morning?”
Her lips curved slightly, almost a smile, almost a warning. “It was… urgent.”
I had almost forgotten Paige was there until she cut in, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What kind of clothes?”
Salma hesitated. Even I was surprised by the question. “Elegant ones. The kind I could never wear unless borrowed from my sister.”
I tapped my pen against the desk. “Why did you need them?”
Her spine straightened, her tone sharpened. “Because I had to. I’d been invited last minute to a gala—television people, the whole city watching. I needed to look the part. And I had permission to enter. From my sister.”
She paused, then asked flatly: “You think I stole the necklace?”
I said nothing. Neither did Paige.
Her voice softened, but her eyes held mine. “I am not a thief. I would never steal from my own family. I went for clothes. That is all. You are wasting your time.”
I studied her. Her gaze never wavered. Her tone never cracked. If she was lying, she was very good. If not… I was chasing shadows.
Paige broke the silence. “Then tell us this—did you see anyone else there? That night?”
Salma shook her head. “No. Just the staff.”
And that was it. She was right—I was wasting my time. Which meant the real hand behind this was still hidden in the dark.
Later that day, I met with the Sheikh’s family. My main interest was his wife. Apart from him, she was the only one who had the code to the safe. I wanted to form my own opinion about her, to watch her closely, and see if something in her words—or her silences—gave her away.
As soon as I arrived, Ben Labna handed me a small folded note. Before meeting the family, I had asked the Sheikh for something specific: a list of his enemies.
The photograph of the missing necklace had shaken everything, and I knew I had to dig deeper. Sometimes the truth hides not in jewels or safes, but in grudges and rivalries.
The note contained five names, written in the Sheikh’s careful handwriting. But what caught my attention was not the list itself—it was the sixth name, squeezed in at the bottom in a different hand. It read: Fahad Al Douri.
“I added this one,” Ben Labna explained. His voice was steady, but there was something sharp in his eyes. “Fahad was once the Sheikh’s closest friend. Now he is his rival. The Sheikh still believes Fahad would never harm him—too many shared memories, too much history.
They grew up together, fought side by side when they were young. But power changes men. Today they are enemies in politics, and I am not so sure friendship will protect him anymore.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” Then I took a quick photo and sent it to Paige. She would begin running background checks while I focused on the family.
The Sheikh’s home was warm, filled with the hum of daily life. His three sons appeared first: boys of eight, twelve, and seventeen. Polite, well-dressed, carefully taught how to behave before guests. They greeted me with respect, then disappeared quickly, leaving only their laughter echoing down the hallway.
And then it was just me and the Sheikh’s wife.
She was composed, elegant, perfectly at ease. Yet something about her presence unsettled me. She alone had access to the safe.
She alone could have played the game, letting me chase shadows about mysterious strangers and jealous lovers, while she kept her hands clean. She knew about the necklace.
In my mind, she was the best suspect. But suspicion is not proof. I still needed a reason—why would she do it?
I asked her gently about her marriage, about her life with the Sheikh. She spoke in calm tones, never revealing anything too personal. Nothing she said gave me a lead. Still, her silence was as telling as her words. There was a barrier I couldn’t break—not yet.
I couldn’t push too hard. Not with her. Not now.
When the conversation came to a natural end, I thanked her for her time, offered a polite smile, and left.
Back in my office, I sat down behind my desk. The city lights were beginning to glow against the evening sky. The case was still a maze of false doors—but I knew one thing. The Sheikh’s wife remained at the very center of it.
I had barely stepped into my office when Paige called out to me. “I found something,” she said, her voice sharp with excitement.
“Go on.”
“I’ve started running the background checks. Nothing on the first five names so far. But Fahad Al Douri… that’s different.”
She leaned in, eyes gleaming. “He owns a handful of companies. One of them is Desert Falcon Holdings.”
“And?” I prompted.
“Desert Falcon Holdings owns Pearl Management. Pearl Management owns Nahr Capital. And Nahr Capital owns Red Sand Gyms.”
I frowned. “And?”
She didn’t blink. “And guess who’s been working at Red Sand Gyms for the past two years?”
I stayed silent.
“The personal coach of the Sheikh’s wife.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s—”
“That’s not a coincidence,” Paige finished for me.