My god, how can this be happening now? David Wellington yelled into the phone, his voice echoing through the hallways of the 45th floor of Wellington Industries. The millionaire CEO paced back and forth in his glass office, watching through the huge windows as the Chinese delegation stepped out of the three black cars parked at the entrance of the building. The official translator had just called to cancel at the last minute, a family emergency that couldn’t wait.
In 15 minutes, executives from China’s largest technology company would be sitting in the conference room to finalize a $200 million contract. $200 million that depended entirely on perfect communication. Mr Wellington, I’ve tried every translator in the city, said Rebecca, his executive assistant, with the phone still glued to her ear.
No one is available for a meeting of this magnitude on such short notice. David loosened his Italian tie, feeling sweat bead on his forehead. 20 years building Wellington Industries, and it could all come crashing down because of a language barrier.
The Chinese were known for their strict communication protocols. They would never tolerate a meeting conducted through translation apps or improvised gestures. Then a soft, almost whispered voice echoed from the corner of the room.
Excuse me Mr Wellington, but I speak fluent Mandarin. All eyes turned to Jasmine Parker, 28, who had paused her cleaning routine to listen to the conversation. She held a cleaning cloth in her hands and wore the standard navy blue uniform of the maintenance staff.
Jasmine had been working on the executive floors for three years, always discreet, always efficient, always invisible to most of the important people who circulated there. The silence that followed was so deep that you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Rebecca was the first to react, letting out a nervous laugh.
Jasmine, this isn’t a joke. We’re talking about a multi-million dollar international deal. David studied her for a moment, as if seeing her for the first time.
You speak Mandarin? he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism and a hint of desperation. Mandarin, Cantonese, and a little Taiwanese, Jasmine replied calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. I studied oriental linguistics at Howard University before, before I started working here.
Jasmine was 28 years old and had never imagined that three years cleaning these executive offices would prepare her for a moment like this. But all that time, while wiping down conference tables, she had listened to every conversation, absorbed every strategy, watched every move these executives made. Especially Rebecca.
Rebecca’s expression quickly changed from amusement to irritation. David, you can’t be serious. A cleaning lady conducting the most important meeting of the year.
But David was desperate. There was something about Jasmine’s posture, the quiet confidence in her voice, that made him hesitate. Prove it, he said abruptly.
Say something in Mandarin. Jasmine took a deep breath and began to speak in perfect Mandarin, her impeccable pronunciation echoing around the room. David was speechless.