One of the members of the security team came up and handed him a folder full of reports. “This is the information you requested,” the young man told him before turning to leave.
What information? Zaid opened the folder to review the file information he’d been handed. With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten about the report he’d requested on how the money for improvements in Rajak and Timina had been spent. He flipped through the pages as he walked pausing when he came across several spreadsheets indicating where money should have gone toward infrastructure. Having now toured both neighborhoods, he knew that the money never made it there.
Continuing to flip through the pages, he was surprised to see reference to a private security firm that he knew the palace didn’t do business with. Despite the mounting evidence, he still didn’t have enough to bring to his father. His advisor was too well entrenched and from what Zaid was reading, had the means to mask his trail of deception and subterfuge well.
What are you up to Alacabak?
14
It had been one week since the bombings and the authorities were tight-lipped about any speculation on who did it. Zaid had managed to find out that, there had indeed been three separate bombs planted and that they had gone off hours sooner than originally planned. Because of that, there were fewer injuries and the number of fatalities had been limited to three. But any further information was held back as the investigation continued.
With the addition of security personnel and more stringent safety precautions, the diplomatic envoy continued their tour and there was speculation that despite what happened, there were still investors interested in Sharjah. Zaid assumed that it had more to do with the authorities swift reaction to the bombing coupled with the obvious poverty intervention tactics the palace was taking to provide fresh water to the people of Rajak and Timina for drinking, cooking and bathing; along with improved sanitation in those areas that were easily remedied.
The Jazia Ball was that night and all of the Emirate’s high society would attend including the delegates from the diplomacy tour. Rumors were flying around that a big announcement would occur tonight, which caught the media’s attention and they were lined up outside eager to catch a glimpse of the guests and speculate on what the announcement would be.
It was one of those nights when the Sultan conveniently forgot about the restrictions he placed on alcohol in the palace. Champagne flowed as servers handed out beautiful crystal flutes filled with the sparkling drink. The palace ballroom was elaborately decorated in gold and white giving the impression of opulence against the backdrop of the s
tar-studded sky, which could be seen through the many doors that had been left open to the exotic Arabian landscape.
The Sultan was the only person who showed up in traditional attire, and that was how he preferred it for the annual ball. It was a time to celebrate progress and prosperity. The ballroom was packed with guests eager to sample the food prepared by Ahmed’s wife, Melanie, and her restaurant, which had recently won two awards.
With the diplomatic party already present, Zaid was excited to show off the fiery little Irish-American redhead dressed in a long amethyst-colored gown with silver embroidery throughout. She was stunning and Zaid couldn’t wait for their engagement announcement.
“This is how my father parties when he wants to show off,” he’d warned her before they left his private quarters. “Be prepared, because it’s big.”
When they walked into the ballroom, they were greeted by loud music and bright lights as men and women moved to the beat of the music on the dance floor causing Rebecca to grip his hand a little tighter.
“This is not what I expected,” she said in his ear.
“Oh, this is nothing. It’s early,” Zaid warned.
The Sultan sat in his throne-like chair on the dais at the far end of the room from the door, watching over his grand party. Zaid’s uncles sat on either side of him. They never took part in any of the balls or parties. They simply presided over it the same way they would have presided over court. His mother and aunts were seated off to the side, close enough to watch but far enough away that security could maintain a watchful eye on them.
Once most of the guests had arrived and the party was finally in full swing, the Sultan stood and signaled the DJ to stop the music. It was time for the opening speech, and possibly even the wedding announcement.
Zaid patted his pocket for the third time to make sure that the ring he planned to offer Rebecca was still there. In the past week, they had spent considerable time together as a family and every minute found him more in love with both Rebecca and Calum. So much so, that he couldn’t imagine his life without them. He hoped she felt the same.
“Family, friends, and other esteemed guests,” the Sultan started his speech. “Welcome to the twenty-fifth annual Jazia Ball. Every year is a celebration of our good fortune and growing prosperity. It is with regret that the recent attacks on the factory has mired our longstanding peace in this region but it has done my heart good to know that so many of you readily donated funds to those families who were most hurt by the bombings. If you would, let’s take a moment to honor those who were injured and died.”
Pausing, the Sultan dropped his head, mumbling quietly to himself as others followed suit. Lifting his head, Zaid could see the sadness on his father’s face before he seemed to shake it off.
“Tonight we have a special treat for everyone,” he continued. “Tonight, my middle son, Sheikh Zaid Al-Qasimi, has asked to make an announcement of his own.” The Sultan looked around the room. “Now, I don’t know what he’s going to say or do, but as you all know, I’ve been marrying my sons off, so perhaps, this will be his year.” He paused and waved his hand toward where Zaid stood with Rebecca.
There was laughter and cheering this time, mixed with applause. Rebecca shot Zaid an apprehensive look. While they’d had several discussions on coming together as a family, she’s been reticent about moving to Sharjah and Zaid had yet to broach the subject of marriage as he had hoped to surprise her.
“So,” the Sultan said when the crowd quieted, “without further ado I’m turning it over to him.”
Zaid gave Rebecca’s hand a squeeze and strode to the front of the room to stand on the edge of dais. “Friends and family gathered with us tonight,” he started, “as you all know I am the remaining brother who has yet to take a bride. My brothers, Khalid and Ahmed, have already married their beautiful brides. Now it’s my turn, and it is my hope that you will be as entranced with her as I am.”
He looked at Rebecca. She was already beginning to blush. She knew what was coming.
“Rebecca Reid,” he said, holding out his hand, “can you please approach the dais?”
She walked up slowly, nervously. Zaid met her halfway, taking her hand to escort her up onto the miniature stage. He grinned as he stepped down. “I have to do it this way so it looks right when I kneel,” he told the guests, and their laughter filled the room, easing his nerves a bit.
Rebecca looked down at him as he took a knee on the red carpet. She started to shake her head, tears threatening to spill over from her eyes. He held one of her small hands in his, and she held the other in front of her mouth.
“Rebecca Reid, we’ve known each other for years. When we first worked together five years ago, the connection we had then was undeniable. We’ve worked together again recently, and our connection rekindled. Even better, you’ve opened my eyes, Rebecca. You’ve taught me how to see what’s right in front of me in a different light instead of always just accepting things at face value. I love you, Rebecca. I suspect I always have. I would be honored if you would continue to stand by my side, helping Sharjah see things through your perspective and find ways to help our people continue to grow. Rebecca Reid, what I’m asking is, will you marry me?”