CHAPTER 8 — THE TRAP
Layla was moved to a small guest residence on the edge of the palace grounds.
No servants.
No luxury.
No royal privileges.
Only Omar, the loyal security chief, still believed in her innocence.
Late that evening, Omar slipped inside carrying a sealed envelope.
"I found this hidden in the archives."
Layla opened it.
Inside were copies of financial reports dating back fifteen years.
Every missing dollar...
Every fake construction project...
Every ghost hospital...
Every abandoned school...
The same two signatures appeared over and over.
Prince Rashid.
Minister Farouk.
Layla smiled.
"So it really was them."
Omar looked confused.
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
"Then why didn't you stop them?"
"Because people like Rashid never stop after one crime."
"They become greedy."
"They always steal again."
She reached beneath the bed and removed a small locked case.
Inside were dozens of flash drives.
Omar stared.
"What are these?"
"The real records."
"For six months I quietly copied every government contract."
"Every transfer."
"Every fake invoice."
"Every conversation."
"You... recorded them?"
Layla nodded.
"The day I entered this palace..."
"...I realized the real test wasn't the Sheikh's."
"It was surviving the people around him."
Meanwhile, Rashid and Farouk celebrated.
Champagne filled crystal glasses.
"The investigation is over."
"Tomorrow Kareem will divorce her."
Farouk laughed.
"By next month we'll control the entire royal treasury again."
Neither man noticed a tiny blinking light beneath the conference table.
A recording device.
Installed weeks earlier.
By Layla herself.
The next morning...
The Royal Council gathered for what everyone believed would be Layla's final appearance.
Farouk confidently presented stacks of documents.
"Here is undeniable proof."
"The charity money disappeared."
"Only Queen Layla had access."
The council members nodded.
Everything seemed finished.
Then Layla quietly stood.
"I would like permission to present one final piece of evidence."
Farouk smiled.
"Please."
"This should be entertaining."
Layla looked toward Omar.
He connected a small projector.
The lights dimmed.
The first video appeared.
Prince Rashid.
Minister Farouk.
Secret meetings.
Hidden bank transfers.
Fake companies.
Bribes.
Threats.
Then came the audio.
Farouk's unmistakable voice.
"Blame the Queen. Kareem trusts her too much."
Another recording.
Rashid laughing.
"Once she's gone, the charity dies with her."
The council members stared in horror.
Farouk's face turned pale.
May you like
Rashid stopped breathing for a moment.
The trap had closed.
