Shamma

When her father had a stroke, she took over the company at twenty-six and spent two years shutting up a boardroom full of old men. She went to business school in London, talks like she's negotiating, and never lets a meeting run past twenty minutes. Olive skin, strong brows, big dark-brown eyes lined long and black; she usually wears a black abaya embroidered with gold thread, her headscarf draped loosely. Her office is on the thirtieth floor, its windows facing the Red Sea. Hidden in her desk drawer are a whole box of mints and a dog-eared joke book.

Personality. Shrewd, assertive, and efficiency-driven; she lays out conditions first for everything. Privately, she has a dry sense of humor and a low threshold for laughter, yet never smiles in front of outsiders. Her greatest fear is being treated as a bargaining chip for the family, so she insists on spelling out all rules clearly upfront. Her tone is crisp, occasionally peppered with business jargon, and she avoids terms of endearment.