The Billionaire's Trap

Chapter 4 — “The Driver Knows Too Much”

Angela POV

8:28 AM.

Angela stood outside her hotel with her bag, coffee in hand, telling herself she wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t nervous.

She was just… alert.

There was a difference.

At exactly 8:30 a black Mercedes pulled up. Smooth, silent, expensive. The kind of car that didn’t belong on this street at all — like a wolf that had wandered into the wrong neighborhood and didn’t care.

The driver stepped out.

He was older — maybe late fifties, silver at his temples, a calm face that had clearly seen enough of life to stop being surprised by it. He wasn’t in a uniform. Just a clean white shirt and dark trousers.

“Miss Reyes.” he said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“I’m Kareem.” he opened the back door. “Mr. Malik sent me.”

Angela looked at the open door for exactly one second — that small, stubborn hesitation — then got in.

The car was cool and quiet inside. The city moved past the windows like a film on mute.

Kareem drove without talking, which she appreciated. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk at 8:30 in the morning.

She watched the streets change as they moved from her cheap neighborhood toward the part of Dubai where everything was wider, cleaner, more deliberate. Where even the road dividers had flowers in them.

Five minutes in, she couldn’t help it.

“Kareem.” she said.

He met her eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Yes, miss.”

“How long have you worked for Mr. Malik?”

“Eleven years.”

Eleven. She hadn’t expected that. Men like Hassan didn’t keep people for eleven years. Men like Hassan used people and moved on.

“That’s a long time.” she said carefully.

“It is.” he agreed. Simple. No elaboration.

She tried a different angle.

“Did he tell you why he wanted you to pick me up?”

Kareem was quiet for a moment. Eyes on the road.

“Mr. Malik doesn’t always explain his reasons.” he said. “But he always has them.”

Angela looked out the window.

Helpful. she thought dryly.

They stopped at a red light near the marina.

Angela was watching a boat move slowly across the water when Kareem spoke again — unprompted, which surprised her.

“There was a grey car parked outside your hotel last night.” he said. Casual tone. Like he was mentioning the weather. “It was there from 9 PM until about 2 AM. Different plates than the night before.”

Angela went very still.

“The night before?” she said quietly.

“Someone was watching your building the night you arrived too.” Kareem said. “Mr. Malik was informed.”

The light turned green. He drove.

Angela sat with that information like it was something hot she’d picked up without thinking and now didn’t know how to put down.

The night she arrived.

She’d landed, checked into her hotel, gone to sleep thinking she had one day before anything started — and someone had already been outside.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Kareem said. And she believed him — not because she trusted him, but because his voice had that specific quality of someone telling the truth about their own ignorance. “Mr. Malik is looking into it.”

“Without telling me.”

“He told you enough.” Kareem said simply. “Last night.”

The real enemy is still out there.

Angela pressed her lips together and looked back out the window.

Malik Enterprises appeared ahead — that impossible glass tower cutting into the morning sky. Even now, knowing what she knew, something about it demanded attention. Like it had been built specifically to make people feel small.

Kareem pulled up to the entrance.

He didn’t immediately get out to open her door. Instead he paused — hands still on the wheel — and said something she wasn’t prepared for.

“Your father.” he said quietly. “Richard Reyes.”

Angela’s hand froze on her bag.

“I met him once.” Kareem continued. His voice was careful. Respectful. “Seven years ago. He came to Dubai for a meeting. Mr. Malik was not involved in that meeting — he was in London that week. I know because I drove him to the airport myself.”

The world outside the car continued normally — people walking, cars moving, Dubai doing what Dubai did.

Inside the car everything was completely still.

“What meeting?” Angela said. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.

“I only know what I saw.” Kareem said. “Your father arrived with two other men. I didn’t know who they were. The meeting was in one of the buildings Mr. Malik’s company owned at the time — but Mr. Malik had nothing to do with it. That building had other tenants. Other businesses.”

He finally turned to look at her directly.

His eyes were kind. Genuinely kind. The kind of kindness that didn’t need anything back.

“I’m not asking you to trust Mr. Malik.” he said. “I’m asking you to consider that the story you know — might have a chapter someone tore out before you could read it.”

Angela stared at him.

Her throat was tight.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to say you work for him, of course you’d say this, of course this is what he sent you to tell me.

But the details were too specific. The London trip. The other tenants. The two unknown men.

Those weren’t the details of a prepared speech.

Those were the details of a memory.

She got out of the car without saying anything.

Stood on the pavement.

Then she turned back. Kareem had his window down now, waiting — like he’d expected her to turn back.

“The two men who came with my father.” she said. “Did you ever find out who they were?”

Kareem looked at her steadily.

“One of them.” he said. “Yes.”

“Who?”

He hesitated — just briefly.

“Ask Mr. Malik.” he said quietly. “Today. Ask him directly. Look at his face when you do.”

He rolled the window up.

Drove away.

Angela stood outside the tower for a long moment.

The morning sun was already sharp and warm on her face. Around her, people moved with purpose — meetings to get to, deals to close, money to make.

She felt like the ground had shifted slightly under her feet.

Everything she’d carried for three years — the grief, the anger, the absolute certainty of who had destroyed her family — had been so clean. So clear.

And now it wasn’t.

One of the two men. He knows one of them.

She picked up her bag.

Walked through the entrance.

Whatever Hassan Malik was — monster, manipulator, or something else entirely — she needed answers more than she needed to be right.

And apparently, he was the only one who had them.