Chapter 2

"What are you doing here?"

The receptionist looked at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into a luxury office building.

My badge was deactivated, my access revoked. I wrote my name on the visitor log of the company where I had worked for four years.

"I need to see Victoria Vance. It's about my commission."

"Victoria is busy."

"I'll wait."

I waited for forty minutes.

When the elevator doors finally opened, two security guards stood behind Victoria.

She wore a pristine cream-colored dress, three-inch stiletto heels, and carried an iced Americano. She strolled over to the desk.

"Oh, Ethan? I heard your daughter is sick?"

As she spoke, I noticed her fresh manicure—pale pink with tiny rhinestones glued to the tips.

I handed her the hospital's critical condition notice. "Her congenital heart disease has flared up.

She needs surgery within seventy-two hours. The $300,000 commission is my legally contracted pay. It has nothing to do with my resignation. You have the signed documents on file."

Victoria didn’t even look at the paper. She took a slow sip of her coffee.

"Ethan, I feel bad for your kid, but what does that have to do with us?"

"Section Seven of the contract states that the lead interpreter is entitled to—"

"Save me the legal lecture," she interrupted, waving her hand. The rhinestones on her nails caught the light. "You walked out and hid the dialect database. You almost ruined the entire phase two project. “

“Do you have any idea how much money we lost because of you? Legal is calculating the damages. We're doing you a favor by not suing you, and you actually have the nerve to ask for money?"

"I didn't hide anything."

My voice was dead calm.

"I sent an email to the AI department before I left, with a standard glossary attached. But the Bedouin Najdi dialect isn't something you can just put on a spreadsheet. “

“It’s based on a decade of my personal, real-world experience. You can't just transfer that into a file."

"So what you're saying is, the company can't function without you?"

Victoria laughed. It was a practiced, corporate laugh. Her lips curved up, but her eyes remained cold.

"Ethan, I spent eight years in HR at a Fortune 500 company before taking over foreign relations. I know your type. Tech and specialist employees always think they are the 'core assets.' “

“You're just an interpreter. Just a translator. AI can't replace you? A 96.7% accuracy rate says otherwise. Do you really think you're that special?"

Every time she said "replace," she tapped her manicured finger on the desk.

I didn't argue with her.

"The $300,000 is my hard-earned money. My daughter is in the ICU waiting for surgery. Please just sign off on the finance request—"

"Are you deaf?"

She slammed her iced Americano onto the desk. The ice rattled.

"The company has frozen your commission to cover the damages you caused. This was approved by both legal and finance. If you don't like it, sue us."

"A lawsuit will take six months. My daughter doesn't have six months."

I didn't raise my voice, but the receptionist took a step back.

Victoria tilted her head. "Then what are you going to do about it?"

"Sign the payout right now."

"Or what?"

"Or I will let Mr. Fahad know. He specifically requested me as the interpreter for the first phase. “

“He even sent a formal letter to your board stating my translation was the key reason they signed. You used that letter to boast to your investors, remember?"

For the first time, Victoria's perfect mask cracked.

"Fahad? You dare threaten me with Fahad?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper. "Let me tell you something, Ethan.”

“It’s because of your terrible handoff to the AI department that Fahad lost trust in phase two. This is your fault.”

“ I don't care if you bring a hospital note to play victim, or if you use Fahad to pressure me. You aren't getting a single penny."

She turned back to the elevator.

"Guards, throw him out. If he comes back, call the police."

Before the elevator doors closed, she threw one last look at me.

"Ethan, stop acting like you're irreplaceable."

That was the second time she had said those words. Once at the banquet, once today. The tone was exactly the same.

The guards grabbed my shoulders and pushed me toward the exit.

I looked back at the glass wall of the lobby. On the honor roll plaque, under "Project of the Year," my name was nowhere to be found.

As I walked out into the scorching sun, I touched the folded hospital notice in my pocket.

It was already damp with my sweat.