. . .

. . .

~

"And if you should count the favors of Allah, you could not enumerate them. Surely, mankind is unjust and ungrateful." (Qur'an 14:34)

~

The day before the gala, Zoya makes a cryptic announcement to her staff about having to run an errand. She gets in her car and begins to drive, following the directions Sameer looked up for her.

"Ms. Zoya, I ran their names through the databases. The younger one works part time at a Walmart nearby as a cashier."

"And the other one?"

"There's a Panera Bread close to the Walmart. She also works part time.

"Great. Pull up the addresses and send them to me."

"Alright."

Zoya follows the GPS, speeding through the highway. Once she reaches her first destination, she pulls the scarf out of her handbag and wraps it securely around her head. "Time for Zoya Zameer to go," she murmurs to her reflection, grabbing a makeup wipe and rubbing it over her face. Adjusting the Ray Ban's over her eyes, she takes a deep breath and exits the car.

While she's heading into Walmart, she passes by a few people who either nod their heads or smile at her. Zoya Zameer is used to being respected for her notoriety, but having this blind respect and regard from others who don't even recognize her is startling, especially because she has a nagging feeling it's due to the piece of cloth resting on her head.

Once inside, she asks customer service where the manager of the store is and — after gazing at her leather handbag and Gucci belt — they direct her to his office to wait for him. In this time, Zoya finds who she came here for and makes sure to stay out of Aisha Suleiman's view.

A couple minutes later, an aged man enters the office and Zoya stands. "Hi, I'm the manager," he says. "My name is Ben. You asked for me, miss?" She notices his eyes travel over her headscarf and immediately he pulls back the hand he held out, nodding politely instead.

"Yes, I did. How are you doing?"

"Well, and yourself?"

"Great. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about one of your employees." She gestures outside the office to who she's talking about, and the manager swivels around.

"Sure," he replies, somewhat confused.

"I need you to promote her to a higher position."

Ben blinks at her. "Excuse me?"

Zoya pulls out her business card from her handbag and hands it to him. "I'm Zoya Zameer." Ben doesn't seem to recognize her name and looks at her again, even more confused. "CEO of Zameer Co. It's a Pakistani fashion company," she says in a duh tone.

A glimpse of recognition and surprise flash across his face. "Yes, yes, I think I've seen you on Fox News once."

Zoya rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses. Of course you have. "I need you to promote her or find her a much better, more well-paying job. Something part time but not as . . . exhausting. You're the manager of this Walmart, you have connections, it'll be a piece of cake for you. Trust me, I run the business world. I know the things you have control over."

Ben furrows his eyebrows. "But . . . why should I do that?"

Zoya pulls out the other accommodation she brought with her and Ben's eyes widen as he darts a quick look around, gulping.

"This is why," Zoya says.

Part of Zoya wants for him not to reach out for the wads of green in her hand. Part of her wants for him to cross his arms and raise his brows and say his integrity can't be bought.

Of course, this part of Zoya is well accustomed to the way the world works, so she isn't too surprised when Ben's eyes further widen and he asks "who are you?" in amazement.

"I've told you. Zoya Zameer."

"But why are you doing this?"

"Think of it as a miracle," Zoya says airily, adjusting her sunglasses. Ben, once I figure out why I'm doing this, I'll be sure to let you know.

She gestures for him to hold his hand out and presses the wad of bills into it, careful not to touch him. "Do as I've asked."

Ben's eyes glaze over as he observes the bills. He's probably losing his mind, wondering how his average Thursday morning turned into a lottery in the afternoon. "Okay, but . . . I still don't understand."

"You don't need to." Zoya adjusts her handbag over her arm. "Oh, and please do me a favor and don't mention our little meeting to anyone. God forbid we would want Fox News to say anything about me. Or worse, about your little Walmart."

Ben shakes his head. "No, miss. You can trust me." He glances at the bills again, eyes still widened in disbelief. "I'll find her a job as soon as I can. Don't worry."

"Good. My number's on the card. I'll be expecting a call from you when you've done what I've asked." She smiles. "And remember, don't tell a soul."

Ben nods vigorously as Zoya heads out. She drives to her next destination and repeats the procedure at the Panera Bread. She requests to speak to the manager, and when he arrives, she launches into her purpose for being there.

This one is a little harder to convince; he asks several questions and tells her he won't accept a "bribe" and place his integrity on the line. Zoya listens to him quite patiently, secretly pleased with his attitude and firm stance. He gives her hope that honest people still exist in the business world.

But she has a job to finish, so she sits and smiles at him through gritted teeth, twirling her hair and asking about his family. He tells her about his two daughters and wife, and Zoya places the wad of bills on the counter. His eyes almost bug out.

"I-I can't accept this, ma'am."

"Of course you can. I'm gifting it to you."

"I can't accept your gift."

She raises a brow. "Do you know who I am? I'm Zoya Zameer, head of one of the greatest industries in the nation. And I get really offended when people don't accept my gifts." The man's shoulders sag in defeat. Having done her work, she tells him she expects a call and heads out with a flourish.

Zoya mulls over the meetings in her car. "Man is so easy to deceive. So easy to please." She pulls out an apple from her bag as she muses to herself. "In life, power, money, and status can get you anywhere. But where do character and decency take you?" She laughs scornfully. "Where do people value honesty and integrity anyway? No matter how much a lower-class person may make claims on their integrity, when they're offered what they haven't had their entire lives — wealth — then to hell with integrity and honesty. All mankind can do is laugh at morality; virtue has become comical. All humans are the same."

Briefly she thinks of Haroun, and how yesterday he had refused the money that would surely have eased many of his problems.

Zoya takes a bite of her apple and steers with her left hand. "Greed and power have blinded mankind; even a man with the most decent character is bound to hang his head before power and wealth, utterly defenseless to their unruly obligations. He's bound to allow his inner desires to take control. After all, what is man but a puppet, and society the puppeteer?" Zoya sighs, lamenting to her steering wheel.

Suddenly she straightens in her seat. "What is this, Zoya, some Shakespearean play? You're not Hamlet. Shut up."

When Zoya enters her office again, Sumaiya follows suit. In her hands is a clothing bag, and she practically hops in excitement. Zoya raises her eyebrows.

"Your dress is ready, Ms. Zoya."

Zoya folds her arms. "Well, let's see it, then."

Sumaiya pulls down the zipper and out fall heaps of silk and net, intricately woven and delicately laced. Zoya's arms loosen, and her eyes momentarily widen before she clears her throat and maintains a neutral expression. Sumaiya pulls the entire dress out and holds it in front of her. It's baby blue, with silver patterns threaded as a delicate net over the layer underneath. It is simpler than most of Zoya's dresses and not nearly as flashy but screams elegance and beauty with a single look at it.

Sumaiya fidgets nervously as she looks up at her boss. After a moment of silence, she ventures to ask, "What do you think?"

Zoya rubs the fabric between her fingers. All of it has been put together in the most precise, orderly, and delicate fashion and Zoya can't help the smile that blooms onto her face. Sumaiya smiles tentatively in return, relieved.

"It's really nice. I'm impressed." Zoya tucks a curl behind her ear. "When did you finish it?"

"This morning," Sumaiya replies. "I started when you told me that you needed it by today."

That means she probably worked the last two nights on it. Zoya's eyes rove over her employee's face, detecting the faint bags under her eyes and the haphazard concealer smeared there. A corner of Zoya's lips lifts. "Good."

Sumaiya's face falls slightly before she resumes her bright smile. "I'm glad you liked it. Is the color okay? I figured this was more soothing, and considering the project you're about to launch, having a tranquil appearance is going to emphasize your message more, don't you think?"

Her words shock Zoya. To have someone think so carefully about her appearance and the impact it will have on her message is astounding. She's something else.

Zoya nods. "Color's great. Now, listen to me very carefully." And Zoya describes in detail what finishing touches are required from the designers for the employees' attire.

When Sumaiya leaves, Zoya saunters back over to her dress.

"You've really outdone yourself, girl. Zaki'll be sorry you ever left." She twirls the dress around in her hands. "Now this is art. Flora was amazing, but . . . there's something about this dress that tells me you actually give a damn about what people think of the company. And by default, of me."

Zoya hangs it beside her desk. Throughout the day, as she works, she sneaks glances at the dress that captivates her more and more with every look.

. . .

A few hours later, Zoya receives a call from Ben notifying her of Aisha's new job per his referral. Zoya smiles smugly and thanks him in a lilting voice.

She busies herself in work again, eagerly anticipating the other call. It arrives two hours later as she is meeting with her directors and consulting her CFO. Zoya excuses herself and steps out of the room with her phone pressed to her ear.

The manager of the Panera Bread reluctantly tells her he has completed her request. "That was fast," Zoya can't help but taunt him. He simply huffs out a breath and shuts the call.

Instead of angering her like it normally would, this only makes Zoya feel giddy. She lets out a sigh of relief and steps back inside the room to continue discussing plans with her team.

. . .