Jabr sped towards the apartment, mind racing as fast as his old Chevrolet Fleetmaster beneath him. The streets blurred by, but his thoughts kept circling back to one question: how had Mary—sharp, calculating Mary—allowed herself to get so deeply entangled in this?
When he reached the apartment, he packed quickly, tossing enough clothes for several days into a case. To his surprise, Mary was already waiting. Her bag stood by the door as if it had been there for days, her readiness unsettling. She met his gaze briefly, her expression unreadable as she said, “Let’s get on with this.”
The silence in the car weighed heavier than the air outside, thick with dust. For the first hour, neither of them spoke. Jabr kept his eyes on the road, but his mind kept drifting to Mary’s secrets. He had always assumed her late pastor husband had orchestrated this mess—Mary’s involvement seemed peripheral at best, but now… her calm composure betrayed a deeper involvement. Could she have been the mastermind all along?
Finally, Mary broke the silence. “I wonder if we should do this,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
Jabr’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What do you mean? This is why we’re going. You didn’t have to come if you weren’t sure.”
“Oh, I must go,” Mary replied, a flicker of something crossing her face. “Jomana would never forgive me.”
He glanced at her. “You don’t have a choice, Mary. You can’t go back to Egypt.”
Mary’s voice dropped, softer than he’d ever heard it. “No, I don’t want to go back. Not to Egypt, not to that life. But Kuwait… I’ll survive here.” She trailed off, looking out the window, her face reflecting the endless dunes that blurred past them.
Jabr’s frustration bubbled up. “What are you saying? We’re going to see Akeem so you can sign the papers. This is your way out of the mess.” He stretched in his seat, trying to shake off the tension building between them.
“I know,” she said simply. “I said I would sign.”
Her calm unnerved him. Jabr shifted in his seat. “Why did you promise Jomana to Akeem, Mary? You knew he was Muslim. You knew what kind of life that would mean for her.”
Mary didn’t flinch. “The plan made sense at the time. A marriage secured his cooperation. We needed him. It was… functional.”
Functional? Jabr’s jaw tightened. Functional – what a terrible word in this case. “But Jomana. Did you even think of her? She would’ve been trapped, one wife among many, in a life she couldn’t escape.”
Mary’s eyes were steady, too steady. “Jomana’s strong. She would’ve managed.”
He nearly said it. ‘Did you love her at all?’ But he swallowed the words, staring back at the road. Silence returned, thicker than before, suffocating.
Another hour passed before Jabr broke. “Who was really the instigator for this? You or Jomana’s father?” His voice was sharp, but Mary didn’t answer. She didn’t have to—her silence was enough.
“Did you ever explain any of this to Jomana?” he pressed.
Still, no answer.
Jabr’s doubts about the upcoming visit to Akeem gnawed at him. He’d thought it would be straightforward—get the papers signed, get out. But now, uncertainty clouded everything. Would Mary go through with it? Or was this all just another layer of a plan he didn’t understand?
And then, there was his own part in all of this. The debt, that looming, crushing debt. He had tried to push it out of his mind, reminding himself that the Lord had blessed Jomana’s pregnancy. And therefore in some convoluted way the blessing had freed him from Emir Ahmed’s clutches. But was that enough? Would God deliver him again?
Akeem lingered in his thoughts too. Their last meeting had been… strange. Remarkable, even. The man’s charm was undeniable, his generosity surprising. Jabr could see how Jomana had been drawn in. But this time felt different. This time, Jabr had no expectations of generosity. No expectation of kindness.
Only uncertainty.
Six hours later, Jabr pulled the Chevrolet Fleetmaster up to the tall, green, iron gate of the Delaimi estate. The gate loomed in front of him like a barrier not just to the grounds but to something far more unsettling. The gateman, anticipating their arrival, waved them through. As the car rolled forward, Jabr couldn’t help but marvel at how much the estate had changed since his last visit. The desert landscape had been transformed into a lush, almost oppressive jungle of exotic flowers and plants. The artificial pond, once modest, now boasted koi the size of small sharks. It was as if Akeem’s wealth had exploded in those few months.
As they pulled up, Akeem, with his striking presence, met them. His appearance hadn’t changed—tall, stately, with that unnerving charm—but something about him felt more intense this time, more controlled. He led them past the sprawling mansion to a large swimming pool where a servant immediately brought tea. The sun was still blazing in the late afternoon, but the large fans around the table hummed, offering some respite from the heat.
Jabr sat uncomfortably, the grandeur of the estate only highlighting his own insecurities. Akeem exuded wealth and power, qualities Jabr felt he lacked. Yet, despite everything, Jomana had chosen him. That thought gave him a small sense of comfort, even if it felt fleeting in this place.
As they sat, Akeem took control of the conversation, his voice as smooth as the well-sugared tea in their glasses. “Jabr,” he began with a casualness that belied the weight of his words. “I’ve heard much news. How’s Jomana? And the baby? I understand there were complications.”
Jabr’s heart skipped. ‘How had he learned that?’
“My friends in Kuwait keep me informed,” Akeem said, as if reading Jabr’s mind. “Abdulla Al-Bader and Abdulsalam Al-Faraj. They were quite concerned.”
Jabr coughed on his too-sweet tea. “I’m sure they were,” he said, his voice strained. Clearly, Akeem knew more than Jabr had anticipated. His debt, the struggles—everything.
Akeem smiled; his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps you’ll see them when you return. Give them my regards.”
Jabr shifted uncomfortably. Where’s he going with this? “I’m certain I will,” he said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.
Akeem’s laughter rang out suddenly, loud and sharp. “I’m sure you will.” The man was making no attempt at subtlety.
The sound of crying children drifted from the house, catching Jabr’s attention. He looked at Akeem, a question forming in his eyes.
“Ah, my boys,” Akeem said dismissively. “Don’t worry, their mothers will see to them.”
Jabr’s stomach turned as he saw two women in burqas rush to calm the children before they reached their father. A cold realization settled in. ‘Did Jomana realize what she had escaped?’ He would have to find a way to gently tell her.
Akeem turned to Mary, finally addressing the reason they had come. “So, Mary, I understand you wish to conclude our business arrangement.”
Mary looked down at her lap, her hands trembling slightly. She hesitated before speaking. “Y-y-yes. I do.”
Akeem raised an eyebrow, sensing her unease. “As you wish. I’ll fetch the paperwork.”
As Akeem disappeared into the house, Jabr leaned toward Mary. “Are you alright?” She didn’t answer, just kept her gaze fixed on her hands.
A few minutes later, Akeem returned with a stack of documents. “These release you from your role as the transfer agent. Each document is from the financial institutions and individuals you represented.” Mary signed each paper with a quick, almost mechanical motion, never raising her head.
“There, it’s done,” Akeem said, his voice as smooth as ever.
Jabr was stunned. ‘So, Mary had been the principal agent all along?’ The realization hit him hard. The whole scheme—he’d always thought her role was marginal, but it seemed she’d been deeply entrenched. Her face was pale, her expression like someone who had swallowed something bitter. But was it over?
Jabr stood, eager to leave. “Thank you, Akeem. We’ll need to find a hotel for the night before heading back.”
“Nonsense,” Akeem replied, waving the idea away. “Stay here. My wives and children won’t bother you.” But Jabr was already bothered—deeply. The thought of Jomana here, living this life, was unsettling beyond words.
The evening meal came soon after, a lavish spread of oven-fresh bread, lamb curry, rice, and a perfectly baked quail for each of them. Jabr ate in silence, his mind far from the table, while Akeem swam with his children, his wives still in burqas in the background, Akeem the picture of ease.
At dawn, a knock on Jabr’s door woke him. Akeem stood there, asking him to join him for breakfast. Reluctantly, Jabr rose, dressed in his white dishdasha and sandals, and joined him by the pool. The morning air was cool, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the previous afternoon.
The meal was simple: an omelet with tomatoes and onions. But the surprise was the pork bacon—a rarity in Riyadh and against Islam. Jabr sipped his too-hot coffee, trying to hide his growing unease.
Akeem didn’t waste time. “I wanted to talk to you before Mary joins us. I know about your debt.”
Jabr nodded, trying to keep his composure. “I figured you did.”
Akeem studied him. “You don’t seem as concerned as I expected.”
Jabr leaned back, more relaxed than he had been in months. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. As strange as it may sound, I’ve learned to trust that the Lord will guide me through whatever comes. The debt… it’s just money. There’s nothing left for me to lose.” Was this a testimony to the Lord’s protection that he had just uttered without planning to do so?
Akeem’s eyes narrowed, a calculating smile playing on his lips. “Well, then. I have a gift for you and Jomana. A wedding present, if you will.”
Jabr looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”
Akeem leaned forward, his smile widening. “One and a half million rupees. The exact amount you owe Al-Bader and Al-Faraj.”
Jabr nearly dropped his coffee. “You… you can’t be serious.”
Akeem stood, motioning for Jabr to follow. They walked down a long hall to a steel door. Akeem unlocked it, revealing a room filled with stacks of rupees, piled high from floor to ceiling.
“Isn’t this dangerous to keep in a home?” Jabr asked, astonished. “So much cash…”
Akeem laughed. “No one would dare steal from me. Besides, it’s necessary for my business.”
He began counting the rupees, carefully placing small stacks into two paper sacks. “There, that should settle your debts.”
Jabr carried the heavy sacks to the car, his mind spinning. When he returned, Mary was finishing her coffee. She looked up as they approached.
“Akeem,” she began slowly, “I’ve been thinking. I’ll be staying in Kuwait from now on. I know the banks there, and I know Al-Bader and Al-Faraj. I’ll need to support myself.”
Jabr stiffened, sensing where this was headed.
“As you know, I’m good at currency transfers,” she continued. “Perhaps I could assist you again. In Kuwait.”
Akeem didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Mary. I’ll send everything you need.”
Jabr said nothing. He just got into the car and drove. They didn’t speak the entire trip back to Kuwait. The silence between them was louder than any words.
