She turned the photograph over again.
The younger man wore an expensive suit and held a leather briefcase.
She did not recognize him.
At the bottom of the envelope was a folded piece of paper.
It contained only one sentence.
The property must never be transferred to Hamza.
Amina read it three times.
What property?
Why Hamza?
And what had her father-in-law been planning all this time?
At precisely six o’clock, someone knocked on the door.
The man standing outside wore a dark suit and carried a black leather briefcase.
Behind him stood Baba Suleiman, looking exhausted but strangely calm.
Malik rushed forward.
“Father! Where have you been?”
“Somewhere I should have gone a long time ago,” Suleiman replied.
He stepped inside.
The stranger introduced himself as Idris Benali, a lawyer who had handled several of Suleiman’s business affairs before the accident.
Amina offered him a chair, suddenly embarrassed by the cluttered apartment.
