Contents of the Book “The Prosecutor Kuwait”
Prologue
If you’re reading this – you’re still alive…
p. 3
Part I. The Return
(Family, Home, Inner Voice)
Chapter 1. Is He No Longer a Prosecutor?
p. 7
Chapter 2. A Home That Smells of Mint and Lamb
p. 12
Chapter 3. Belly Dancing and the Philosophy of Happiness
p. 18
Chapter 4. Where Does Vacation End?
p. 24
Chapter 5. The Puppy That Needed Praise
p. 30
Part II. First Blood
Chapter 6. Vegas. A City of Masks and Bullets?
p. 37
Chapter 7. Bullets Sign the Truth with Scars
p. 44
Chapter 8. The Trunk Where Truth Hides
p. 52
Chapter 9. The Courtroom Where Bullets Turn into Words
p. 58
Chapter 10. The Killer Missing from the Records
p. 65
Chapter 11. The Silence Paid in Gold
p. 71
Part III. A Street with No Name
Chapter 12. Where Does the New Street Begin?
p. 78
Chapter 13. The Bus That Doesn’t Take You Home
p. 84
Chapter 14. A Line That Doesn’t Exist on the Map
p. 90
Chapter 15. A Warehouse That No Longer Smells Like Childhood
p. 96
Chapter 16. The Dossier on Those Who Buy Children
p. 104
Chapter 17. The Day of Wisdom
p. 111
Part IV. A Case with a Name
Chapter 18. Fragile Truth
p. 118
Chapter 19. Sara – The Girl Who Didn’t Disappear
p. 126
Chapter 20. Children Draw When They’re Heard
p. 134
Chapter 21. Chapter 44: Those Who Stood Nearby
p. 143
Part V. A Letter from the Dark
Chapter 22. A Finale That Doesn’t Exist
p. 152
(The Robbery as a Performance, the Tunnel Case)
Chapter 23. A Voice from Below
p. 161
(A Letter from the Offender, the Closing of the Case)
Chapter 24. Those Who Knew – and Stayed Silent
p. 168
(The Trial of Accomplices and the Inactive)
Part VI. Light Beneath the Skin
Chapter 25. The End of Book One
p. 176
(Kuwait Grills Meat, Family, Jokes, and Quiet)
Epilogue
A Name, Not a Number
p. 182
Appendices (Optional):
Glossary of Terms and Context
Acknowledgments
Notes and Sources
pp. 190–200
Prologue
If you’re reading this – you’re still alive.
Which means you still have a chance to hear.
My name is Kuwait Alim.
I’m a prosecutor.
I’m not a hero. I’m not a messiah. I’m just a man who has seen too much—
and once chose not to look away.
This is not a book about laws.
It’s a book about silence—
the kind that kills.
About documents that hide tears behind their pages.
About children no one was waiting for.
About adults who find comfort in not knowing.
I took on cases no one wanted.
And heard stories that made you want to turn off the light.
I’ve heard the laughter of people whose hands were soaked in pain.
And the trembling voices of those who still hold on to hope.
If you’re looking for a fairy tale—close this book.
If you’re searching for the truth—hold on tight.
It’s fragile.
I don’t know if this book will change you.
But I do know this:
some things should never be unknown.
Open the first chapter.
Step inside.
And maybe—just maybe—
you, too, won’t be able to stay silent anymore.
Chapter 1. The Move
I wasn’t leaving to run away—
I was going to begin.
But something still came with me.
Silently. Inside.
My past.
The airport was filled with the breath of other people’s fates.
No one spoke loudly—everyone was either saying goodbye or standing on the edge of something new.
The departure lounge hummed like the sea before a storm.
It smelled of coffee, nervous sweat, and something sweet from duty-free.
I held my passport so tightly,
as if it might take off without me.
Inside—buzzing.
Not from noise,
but from the thought:
“I’ll never be the same when I come back.”
I didn’t know what America smelled like,
how it sounded,
what eyes it looked through.
But I knew: I was flying there.
And I had to.
I landed in Chicago early in the morning.
The August wind off the lake was almost cold—
damp, gritty, real.
From the taxi window, skyscrapers rose through the fog
like islands in milk.
That’s how my life in this city began—
a city where they say the wind changes people.
The law school at the University of Chicago
stood in a gray stone building that looked like a movie version of Harvard—
arched corridors, staircases, benches, ancient trees,
and the eternal buzz of student life.
The voices sounded like a rehearsal
for a massive stage play.