The emir leaned closer to the document.
“Bring me a magnifying glass,” he said.
An assistant hurried nervously into the room, as if the atmosphere had suddenly grown heavier.
When the magnifying glass touched the parchment, the silence deepened.
The emir examined the seal carefully for several seconds.
Then he lifted his gaze.
His eyes settled on Richard.
“Explain this.”
Richard leaned forward quickly.
“It must be a regional variation,” he said. “Scribes often—”
But the emir raised his hand again.
“No.”
The single word sounded final.
One of the legal advisors, a thin man with gray-framed glasses, asked if he could inspect the parchment.
He handled it carefully, like a fragile artifact.
After a moment, his expression changed slightly—just a tightening around his mouth.
“Mr. Blake,” he said quietly, “the girl is correct.”
The tension in the room grew colder.
Richard opened his mouth to respond.
Nothing came out.
The advisor tilted the parchment toward the light.
“And there’s something else,” he added.
Mia felt her breath catch.
“The ink contains modern chemical compounds,” he continued. “They don’t match the period the document claims to be from.”
A murmur spread across the room.