Sterling looked like he was going to be physically sick. The ultimate humiliation. To save his empire, he had to submit to the demands of the waitress he had just verbally abused. He had to beg her to stay. The room waited in agonizing silence. The seconds ticked by, thick with tension. Finally, Richard Sterling broke. The blustering, arrogant billionaire slumped back into his chair, looking ten years older. He did not look at the investors. He looked down at his empty plate. “Fine,” Sterling muttered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. He looked up at Sophia, his eyes burning with a hateful, defeated resentment. “Stay. Translate. Just sit down.”
“No,” Sophia said. The word dropped into the room like a live grenade. Sterling’s head snapped up, shock registering on his face. “What? They just demanded you stay.” “They demanded I stay,” Sophia corrected, her voice smooth and lethally calm. “I have not yet agreed to do so.” She walked slowly toward the empty chair next to Arthur, the chair that had been placed there for a subordinate. She did not sit in it. She placed her hands on the back of the leather seat, commanding the room’s attention. She was no longer fighting just to survive. She was fighting to win. This was the moment she overturned the injustice that had kept her family drowning.
“Mr. Sterling, five minutes ago you called me illiterate. You called me a peasant. You attempted to humiliate me to mask your own severe incompetence in international business,” Sophia stated, her voice unwavering. “You assume that because I wear an apron, my time and intellect are yours to command. They are not.” Sokolov smiled thinly, resting his chin on his hand. He was thoroughly enjoying the execution. “If you want my services tonight, and if you want to salvage this merger,” Sophia continued, “I am no longer acting as a server. I am acting as a specialized multilingual logistics consultant. My fee for crisis mediation and real-time five-language simultaneous translation of international trade terms is five thousand dollars an hour, payable immediately upon the conclusion of this dinner.” Sterling gasped. “Five thousand? Are you out of your mind?” “Additionally,” Sophia pushed on, ignoring his outburst, “my sister requires specialized medical care that your predatory health-care investments have made nearly impossible to afford. Should this merger proceed over the next six months, I will be the lead communication director for the integration team. You will match my previous salary offers from the UN, plus a signing bonus that clears my family’s remaining medical debt. Those are my terms.”
Arthur looked at Sophia as if she were a mythological creature. She was demanding a fortune and an executive position from a man known for destroying lives on a whim. Sterling’s jaw worked furiously. He looked to the investors for help, hoping they would see this as extortion and side with him. Instead, Klaus Wagner nodded approvingly. “A very reasonable rate for specialized maritime logistics consulting on such short notice. I pay my crisis managers in Berlin twice that. Pay the woman, Richard.” “Or we leave,” Lorenzo Rossi said, highly amused by the drama. “Your choice.”