When I asked the Sheikh for a meeting with his wife’s coach, he was surprised. I could hear the surprise flickered across his voice, but he didn’t question me. And I didn’t explain. Not yet.
Paige’s discovery was too fresh, too fragile.
When I arrived at the mansion, the air felt colder than usual. The Sheikh was still simmering after the revelation about the necklace. His fury seemed to hang in the corridors, pressing down on everyone.
The old maid, in particular, made her dislike of me clear. She had never been warm, but this time she was openly hostile.
“You again,” she muttered, her eyes dragging up and down my suit like I was a stain she couldn’t scrub out.
“Good morning to you too,” I said.
“Still poking around with your interviews, Detective?”
“Indeed,” I answered, keeping my tone neutral. “I’m meeting Marko. The coach of Mrs. Zayed Maktoum. You know him?”
Her mouth twisted. “I know him. He’s kind. Easy-going. A good man. Which makes me wonder… you must have no real leads if you’re wasting time with him.”
Her words hit harder than I expected. I felt the anger stir, but I pushed it down. I couldn’t let her see.
“The case is progressing,” I said evenly. “But it’s not an easy one.”
She gave me a mocking smile. “Progressing…” she echoed, drawing the word out like it was a joke.
Before I could reply, Ben Labna appeared, silent and precise as ever. “This way, Detective.”
I followed him down the long hallway, but even as I walked, I felt the maid’s eyes burning into my back.
Marko was waiting in one of the side rooms. Fit, relaxed, the kind of man used to people trusting him quickly. He greeted me politely, but I wasn’t here for small talk.
“Marko,” I began, taking the chair opposite him, “let’s not waste time. You work for Red Sand Gyms. That gym is owned by Nahr Capital, which is owned by Pearl Management, which is owned by Desert Falcon Holdings. And at the top of that chain sits Fahad Al Douri. I know that.”
Marko blinked, confused—or pretending to be. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said slowly. “I do work for Red Sand Gyms, yes. But I’ve never heard of this… Fahad.”
I leaned forward. “Of course you have. You’ve been the personal trainer of Mrs. Zayed Maktoum for two years. And you expect me to believe it’s just a coincidence that your paycheck ultimately comes from one of the Sheikh’s greatest enemies?”
He gave me a small controlled smile. “Detective, I train many people. I don’t keep track of who owns the companies behind the companies behind my gym. That’s not my concern.”
He was playing with me. I could see it in the way his smile lingered. I didn’t have time for games.
I stood, pushing the chair back. “Let me be honest with you.” I walked to the door, hand on the handle, then turned back to him.
“I don’t believe a word you’ve said. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll tell the Sheikh what I know—that you’re essentially on Fahad Al Douri’s payroll. He’ll fire you immediately. Then Fahad will have no more use for you.
Maybe he keeps you, maybe he doesn’t. But either way, the extra money—the inside information—you’ve been slipping him? That stops.”
His smile faltered.
“And if you want to keep earning something on the side,” I added, lowering my voice, “you’ll come to me instead. I’ll pay you for the truth. For everything you know.”
His face froze, caught between shock and calculation.
I didn’t wait. I opened the door and left, my footsteps echoing hard against the marble.
Minutes later, I was in the Sheikh’s office. I laid it all out, careful but direct. His face darkened with every word.
As expected, he wasted no time. He called Marko in, tore into him, and fired him on the spot. He even threatened to call the police, to file charges, to drag him into court if he ever came near the family again.
Marko left the mansion pale, speechless.
The Sheikh turned back to me, his eyes like steel. “I will not have traitors under my roof,” he said. And for once, I believed him.
On the drive back to the office, my phone rang. Unknown number. I hesitated for a second before answering.
“Detective?” a nervous voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Max. The cook’s assistant.”
That caught my attention.
“I… I want to help,” he said, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear through the line. “Can I meet you at your office?”
We set a time for the afternoon. He hung up quickly, like he already regretted the call.
Back at the office, I filled Paige in on the latest developments. She was sharp, quicker than anyone I knew, and I could see her mind working even as I spoke.
Then both our phones buzzed. An alert.
At the start of the case, we had set up Google alerts on anything connected to the Sheikh. This one we were sure to not lose anything important.
We opened it—and froze.
The link led to a video. Grainy, handheld, but damning. The Sheikh was in it, his face twisted with fury as he screamed at a young maid.
She looked barely twenty. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, tears running down her cheeks. The longer it went on, the more he roared, until finally she bolted, sobbing as she disappeared out of frame.
For a moment, Paige and I just stared at the screen.
Beneath the video, the comments section was already a battlefield. Hundreds of voices condemning the Sheikh, defending the maid, calling him a monster.
His reputation, already fragile, had taken another brutal hit.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple. First the stolen necklace, now this. And the timing—just hours after Marko’s dismissal—was too perfect. This wasn’t coincidence. It was a campaign. Humiliation by installments.
The storm gathered momentum fast. By late afternoon, another headline broke: a coalition of influential voices—politicians, businessmen, and, of course, Fahad Al Douri—publicly demanded the Sheikh step down as Head of Tech Investment.
It was theater. None of them had the authority to force him out. But the message was clear: the scandal had spiraled beyond his control.
I was glad I wasn’t at the mansion. The Sheikh would be in a rage unlike anything I’d seen.
Still, not everyone had abandoned him. A few allies stepped forward online to show their support.
Among them was Kareem Ben Labna, brother of the Sheikh’s personal assistant. The Sheikh had poured millions into Kareem’s crypto venture. Loyalty, it seemed, could still be bought.
With Paige, we went over everything again, pacing the office like caged animals. The problem wasn’t theories—we had plenty. The problem was proof.
Fahad Al Douri’s shadow was all over this, but shadows don’t hold up in court. We needed something solid. Something that would break the case wide open.
A few hours later, Max, the cook’s assistant, arrived at our office. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his worn satchel, his eyes darting to every corner of the room as if someone might be watching.
Paige and I offered him a seat. He sat stiffly, shoulders tense, his breath shallow.
“Please…” he began, his voice low, “don’t tell the Sheikh I came here. I just want to help.”
Paige and I exchanged a quick glance before I leaned forward.
“You have my word. Nothing leaves this room.”
Relief flickered across his face. He managed a nervous smile, bowing his head slightly.
“Thank you. Lola told me about the pictures. I know you didn’t tell the Sheikh, and I… I appreciate that. If he found out any of his staff was involved, he’d fire us on the spot. And right now… he’s very tense.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “We’re not here to ruin lives. We’re after the truth. Do you know anything about the necklace? Is that why you wanted to meet?”
Max shook his head quickly.
“No, nothing about the necklace. I’m sorry. But there’s something you should know.”
He hesitated, eyes fixed on the floor, as though weighing whether to go on. Finally, he looked up.
“There’s another detective on the case.”
That made me sit back.
“Another detective?”
“Yes. From the very beginning. The Sheikh didn’t just hire you—he hired two detectives. He wanted the case solved fast, and without anyone in his circle suspecting too much. But… it seems neither side has succeeded.”
“Who are they?” I asked, my tone sharper than intended.
“The Kyran Agency,” he said. The name hung heavy in the room.