You feel Prince Al-Waleed the moment you walk in. He’s the one who demands the lobby smell like custom-brewed black tea and vetiver. He’s the reason the doorman remembers your name after 24 hours. The Prince bought the company out of bankruptcy in the ‘90s and injected Arabian Nights ambition into its veins. Without him, you wouldn’t have the gold-leafed infinity pool or the porter who irons your t-shirt for $12. He is the theater .
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