We’re usually betrayed by the people closest to us.
The people who worked with me had been with me for 13 years.
We were friends and business partners.
They would give me money to invest for them.
We worked together for 13 years.
Then we had a disagreement.
It wasn’t because I didn’t want to give them their money back.
No, it was because I WANTED to give them their money back.

Let me tell you how the betrayal went down.
We agreed that I’d give them back their money in a specific period of time when I decided to stop working.
I told them that I was tired and needed a break. I wanted to spend time with my children to raise and take care of them.
I spent 8 years investing my uncle’s money as well.
Things were going well.
He treated me like the most important person in the world.
He would open the building door for me, as well as the car’s.
“Why does she want to end the business? Things are going really well,” he told my mother.
To which my mother naively replied, “She wants to open her own business so her children could benefit from it. She even bought an apartment in Rehab.”
A while later he asked for his money back.
“I need the money because my daughter is getting married,” he said.
“Do you need the entire sum all at once?” I asked.
“No, I want half of it. Keep investing the other half. I need that half to pay for the wedding.”
“Today’s Saturday and I’ll give you the money on Friday.”

I stayed true to my word and called him after Friday prayers.
“The money is ready, uncle.”
“Let’s meet in a cafe in Dokki.”
I said okay.
I parked my car and entered the cafe looking for my uncle and his son.
I thought they decided to meet in a cafe so that their wives wouldn’t know about the money.
“Is there someone waiting for you inside?” a guy on the door asked.
I was surprised by the question but told him yes.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I found my uncle sitting at the very end of the cafe.
“I’m very sorry, auntie Amany. My father is behind this,” his son told me.

We headed to the police station where I was met by a General from the Public Funds Investigation department.
“Why is this old man mad at you?” he asked.
“What did I do?”
“He just said that he’s mad at you. Did you pull off something sketchy with him?”
“What sketchy thing? He asked for his money and I got it for him.”
“He asked for half of it and told me to invest the other half. I was getting ready to liquidate the whole thing anyway.”
“Are you going to throw people’s money away after using them?”
I had the money with me in a bag.
“We’ll take the money but we won’t sign anything that says we took it,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’ll be as if you have the money and you’ll pay us interest for it.”
It made no sense.
We had a long discussion and they brought in Lieutenant-Generals to scare me.
They counted the property I owned in Alexandria and Sharm El Sheikh, and kept talking about the projects I was working on and how I owned a villa.
They wanted a share of these things.
“I have this man’s money. Here’s half of it and I’ll bring the other half from my home tomorrow. I’ll give him the money with a month’s interest. But he has to sign a receipt,” I said.
I never would’ve thought that the people closest to me would be the ones to destroy my life.
My uncle wanted a share of everything I owned.
“You’re raising your children with ill-gotten money. Those things are ours,” he said.
“I will not pay or do anything. If he wants the money, he has to sign the papers. I’ll call my lawyer to get a release form ready.”
He realized that he wasn’t going to scam me out of anything.

That incident happened in Ramadan. It lasted from Isha prayers until dawn.
He apologized to me the next day.
“I need the money. You’re going to get me in trouble. I’m spending all my money on my daughter’s wedding.”
“It’s not my problem. Here’s your money. If you want it, take it,” I told him.
It was shocking to see my uncle trying to scam me out of the money I earned with my own blood, sweat, and tears.
It took me 5 years to make that kind of money.
It’s not like I swindled people out of their money and was trying to run away.
Turns out he called the people who worked with me to turn them against me.
I had been working with those people for thirteen years.
We had a good relationship.
They gave me their money and I give them a monthly return of investment.
They were satisfied, and so was I.
I got to make some money in return.

I won’t lie and tell you I didn’t make any money. I made a lot.
I made a good amount of money and expanded my business.
I deserve to do something for myself.
We made equal profit.
They made 1000 LE a month, and so did I.
After making a certain amount, I thought it was enough.
He convinced them that they had a share in the profit I made.

It was Ramadan when I told them, “I’ll have your money ready after Ramadan. And here’s your monthly share.”
“We’ll talk the day before Eid, so have your papers ready.”
The Administrative Control Unit called me the day before Eid.
Turns out my uncle, may he rest in peace, had filed a report against me that I could in no way evade.
I refused to sign it.

I requested a two-week vacation.
I was looking for a way to get out of this without any trouble.
But the report had already been filed against me.
I told them, “We won’t wait till after Eid or for another six months. I’ll give you an in-kind contribution and we’ll register it the Land Registry Office.”
“We’ll consider it a security deposit until I get your money.”
“I’ll give you your money in return for those things.”
“No problem. But we want our money back with an interest.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
The second blow came from my husband.
My villa, apartments and cars were all in his name.
I asked for them back but he refused.
It could’ve been over with an official report in the police station.
I asked for the contracts so I could give those people their money.
You won’t believe what he told me:
“The contracts were stolen from the apartment.”
My younger brother pressured him until he confessed.
“I don’t want to give her the contracts so the people don’t get greedy. Their worth is ten times more than their money. They could sell them and take the money for themselves. We should wait a bit and put some pressure on them.”

I went to the General Prosecutor since I’m a government employee and paid 450 thousand LE.
But my uncle, may he rest in peace, moved forward with the lawsuit.
Instead of having the General Prosecutor responsible for it, he moved it to the Criminal Court.
Cases like mine usually take two or three years to be processed.
But I got convicted in three months. I got sentenced to 10 years.

After receiving the sentence, my case was moved from the Criminal Court to the Misdemeanour Court.
I got sentenced to a year, which amounts to nine months.
I was in for sixty months.

My professional career was over.
My husband insisted that the contracts were stolen.

I got out after five years.
I stayed with my mother for five years without telling my husband that I had gotten out.
He didn’t see me for 10 years. I refused to meet him.
Turned out he had sold all the apartments and kept the villa money for himself.
He sold all the cars and kept the money in his name at the bank.
He didn’t even provide for his children during those ten years.
“I can’t be responsible for three children,” he said.
They stayed with my parents. They took care of them.
He called them at home one day and said, “When you see your mother, tell her I need to speak to her about an urgent matter.”

I had told him before that convicts doing a 10-year sentence are allowed home visits, so I called him.
“What do want?”
“I’m getting married.”
We hadn’t seen each other for ten years.
He didn’t send money.
He didn’t provide for his children.
He didn’t even know how old they were.
“You know how things are. I’ve got a heart condition and I need someone by my side,” he said. I’m getting married so she could take care of me. We’ll be living in the apartment, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” I said.
“How much are you willing to buy the apartment and the furniture for?”
“I’m already living in it.”
“You were living in it and using my things because you were the father of my children.”
“I still am.”
“But you will no longer be my husband. I don’t mind if you get married as long as you buy the apartment and furniture.”
“I’ll take some things, and you can take the things I don’t need.”
“So you’ll buy those things?”
“No.”
“And you won’t give me back my property?”
“I told you the contracts were stolen.”

I got a truck the next day and took my furniture.
My son had a copy of the keys.
I handed over the apartment to the landlord and took the money I had paid him.
“I handed over the apartment to the landlord. Talk to him if you’re willing to pay for it. We’ll meet tomorrow at the maa’zoun (marriage officiant),” I told him over the phone.
All that, and he didn’t want to give me my dowry!

We’re betrayed by the people closest to us.

Despite all this, my siblings and I maintained a good relationship.
They helped me out during my hardship even though I owed them money.
I told them to sell my car and take their share of the money, but they refused.
They’ve been helping me and my children out for thirteen years now.
They helped them furnish their homes when they were getting married.
My brother who lives abroad sends me money until this day.

Hopefully I’ll be able to collect the money and deposit them in court so my case could be dismissed.
I’m planning on returning every penny.
“We’ll try to convince the people to come to court with us so you could get exonerated,” my siblings told me.
My lawyer said I wouldn’t be exonerated until I paid the people back.

But how can I ever get rid of the stigma of being a former convict?