From Aliya to Hafiz

Twenty-six.

Hafiz

I looked out at the backyard through the glass wall of the kitchen. My estate's renovations were completed five days ago and we moved in yesterday. I hired a few staff; six cleaners, four gardeners and two cooks. They were enough to manage the estate for now.

As for the position of head butler, or whatever role Nikita played in father's estate, I was still searching. I wanted to find someone trustworthy. The only thing left unfinished was the pool, though they were done tiling it and waiting for it to dry before filling it up with water.

I was reviewing the file father gave me two weeks ago. It was a proposal sent from The Pentagon, Arlington, in Virginia and it was signed off by both the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the top dog in the White House. It was a proposal to assemble a state-of-the-art surveillance system for border control and security, ISR systems as well as Missile defence systems.

It wasn't something easy to accomplish, nor a task we could afford to fail. Developing it made us run a risk of being under constant surveillance by the US military for fear of leakage.

But I knew we could do it, they didn't have to worry about a leak because it was obvious where our allegiance lies. We weren't stupid, this was our home, our roots were buried too deeply, and anything that screwed the country over screwed us over. Anything that made it better, made us better.

And out of all the industries of Hakimi and Co, only our IT companies are lagging far behind, their profits and reputation laughable compared to other sectors. The fact that the government skipped all the bigwig companies that usually developed such technology for them must be part of a wider scheme, but it was also to our advantage.

They didn't send the full proposal, just the basics and the two companies they hoped would spearhead the operation. The partner company they chose for us was Raytheon Technologies, and the representative approved by the company was the head of the Intelligence and Space department, a department specialising in satellite-based intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance.

They also handled Space-based sensory systems which I felt would come in handy in developing the border patrol surveillance systems. The government probably thought so as well.

The leader of the department, Sofia Harris, was a forty-five-year-old widower, quite young for her position. She was currently in Germany for a seminar and won't be back until next week. I was busy these past two weeks soaking up information about this particular industry like a sponge.

I already had a list prepared for the employees I would work with on the project from Hakimi Technologies. I was mostly prepared, only waiting for next week to officially meet our partner.

And because this was a huge project, I was sure the moment word got out after the successful development of these systems, it would catapult Hakimi Technologies into global scrutiny. If I could set up a company now while I was in charge, I could approve it as a partner on the sly and then invest and wait for the profits to roll in.

Really, it almost felt like there was a greater power at work, realigning the stars and making things work in my favour.

"The table is set, Mr Hakimi," Delilah, the fifty-year-old chef I hired, said, standing a few steps from the bar where I sat. It was attached to the kitchen and by the staircase that led to the second floor. There was no way I would have a house without a bar. The wine cellar was in the backyard, the door hidden behind winding tendrils of honeysuckles.

I grunted in both reply and dismissal, closing the folder and taking it with me to the dining table. I was having an early dinner because I was busy throughout lunch.