"ExxonMobil from our country, Royal Dutch Shell, France's Total, and BP from England all hold oil concessions in the UAE," explained David Scott, providing Martin with key insights.
"Then there's Sweden's Partex, Japan's Mitsubishi Oil, as well as companies from Germany, Italy, Spain, and China, which have yet to secure concessions."
David, who had spent nearly 20 years in the oil industry, had managed to gather plenty of insider information through his extensive network.
"Lately, Hasfah has received numerous invitations to banquets, mostly from companies trying to secure concessions. The major corporations that already hold concessions, however, seem to have contacted Hasfah much earlier—I suspect their goal was to learn the oilfield's location."
David paused, a puzzled look crossing his face.
"What's strange is how tight-lipped these companies are about their dealings with Hasfah. No one's saying a word, good or bad."
Martin smirked knowingly. "Of course they're keeping quiet. They were all played by that old fox Hasfah. It's so embarrassing they'd rather others fall into the same trap to dilute their own stupidity."
Hasfah's greed was apparent—he'd been selling the same information to multiple parties.
"Serves them right," Martin thought with amusement. Greed made them easy prey for someone like Hasfah.
"Those without concessions are scrambling to secure them now. Sweden's Partex and Japan's Mitsubishi Oil are close to finalizing deals. Their concessions will vary in duration, but even the shortest is three years," David continued.
He then cast an admiring glance at Martin.
"I still can't believe how you managed to secure a ten-year concession from the UAE, plus another ten years as an optional extension. That's twenty years altogether—terms even the biggest corporations couldn't negotiate!"
By late November, Martin had been in Abu Dhabi for nearly a month.
One evening, Leo approached him with a folder and said in his gruff voice, "This is from the princess, as promised."
Reluctantly, Leo added, "The princess is waiting for you in her car downstairs."
Over the past few weeks, Leo had watched the princess grow increasingly close to Martin. While he was glad that Martin had solved her problems, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a protective "father" watching his "daughter" fall for a "troublemaker."
Suppressing his annoyance, Leo reminded himself of his role as her bodyguard and refrained from making inappropriate remarks.
Downstairs, a white Bugatti Veyron awaited Martin.
He glanced up at the hazy Abu Dhabi sky, which was perpetually tinged with dusty gray hues. It was the worst time of day, with most people taking refuge indoors or in their cars, avoiding the swirling sands.
Martin slid into the passenger seat.
Haya sat in the driver's seat, wearing a chic Chanel outfit. Her headscarf had been replaced by a colorful silk scarf, and she sported light makeup and sunglasses. She looked less like an Arab woman and more like a fashion icon from New York or London.
"Where to?" Martin asked casually as he removed his mask and sunglasses.
Haya didn't answer directly. Instead, she said, "You know, I've always loved horses—not just for their beauty, but for the thrill of galloping at full speed, completely under my control."
"And so, I also love sports cars. They're another way for me to experience that same rush of speed!"
Martin shrugged. "So, where are we going?"
Haya grinned mischievously, a glint of playful mischief in her eyes that made her look like a young girl about to pull a prank.
"You've fastened your seatbelt. That's good."
The next moment, she floored the accelerator.
The Bugatti shot forward, and Haya let out an exhilarated whoop, her pent-up energy pouring out as the car roared down the road.
Within three seconds, the Veyron reached its top speed, rocketing forward with explosive force. The sheer acceleration pinned Martin and Haya firmly against their seats.
Haya's adrenaline surged as the speedometer climbed past 200 km/h. Her joyous shouts echoed through the car as they sped down the nearly deserted Corniche Road and onto Sunset Boulevard.
Sunset Boulevard was even emptier. The wide, straight road stretched deep into the desert, fading into a hazy expanse of yellow sand and dust.
Haya pushed the car to 240 km/h, taking full advantage of the open, straight road.
She glanced at Martin, expecting to see him pale with fear or clutching his seat in panic.
Instead, Martin was yawning, looking thoroughly bored.
He must be pretending, Haya thought. He has to be!
"Hey," Martin finally said, his tone calm. "All this dust—if you keep driving , you're going to wreck the car."
Haya scoffed. "So what? Are you scared? It's okay to admit it—I won't laugh at you."
Over the past few weeks, Haya had noticed their dynamic shifting. She had started to feel like Martin was taking the lead in their interactions, and as someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, she didn't like it.
Today's stunt was her attempt to unsettle him, to prove he wasn't as composed as he seemed.
But the plan wasn't working.
"Why would I be scared?" Martin asked, genuinely puzzled. "This speed is so slow."
"Slow?!" Haya was stunned, feeling as though he was mocking her.
Martin wasn't. He truly found the speed unimpressive.
In the magical world he once inhabited, he had ridden in the war chariots of the Piers-class demon envoys. Those vehicles could cover tens of thousands of kilometers in a day—now that was speed.
Compared to that, even the Bugatti Veyron's maximum speed of 400 km/h felt sluggish.
"You're not scared?" Haya asked again, incredulous.
"Not at all. And honestly, you're not even pushing this car to its limits. Too timid, aren't you?" Martin said matter-of-factly.
Haya was fuming. "You don't get it! For an ordinary person, this is the maximum safe speed. Even professional racers only reach speeds of 300 km/h on a track. Beyond that, the human nervous system can't react fast enough to handle any sudden changes."
Martin chuckled inwardly at her frustration, while Haya gritted her teeth, determined to show him up.
For Martin, it was just another amusing moment in a long game.