The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted instantly. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. The heavy oak doors swung open, and Adrian Sterling walked in. He was taller than he looked on television, with broad shoulders and a jawline that looked like it had been cut from granite. He wore a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. His eyes were dark, scanning the room with a predator’s focus. He did not look happy. He looked like a man going to war. Behind him walked Klaus Vanderburg, an older, distinguished Austrian man with silver hair and a kind face, followed by a retinue of lawyers, and trailing at the back, a very smug-looking Carter Banks. Sarah pressed herself against the wall, clutching her tray. Adrian Sterling swept past her. He did not even look at her. To him, she was just part of the furniture. But tonight, the furniture was about to fight back.
The dinner was an agonizing affair of tension masked by politeness. Sarah was assigned to refill water and wine for the table, a task that required her to hover silently at the edge of the conversation. She watched Adrian Sterling closely. He was intense, barely touching his food. He drank black coffee and reviewed the English summary of the documents in front of him. “The contract is standard, Adrian,” Carter Banks said, slicing his steak with aggressive precision. “The German version is just a formality for Klaus’s records in Vienna. Same terms we discussed in Geneva.” Adrian looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Where is the translator? I hired Davidson specifically for this.” “Stuck in gridlock on the Brooklyn Bridge,” Carter lied smoothly. “He called ten minutes ago. But surely we don’t need to wait. Klaus has a flight to catch, and you know the market opens in Tokyo in three hours. We need to announce.” Klaus Vanderburg nodded, taking a sip of wine. “It is true, Mr. Sterling. The terms are agreeable. My legal team assured me the translation matches our agreement.”
Sarah, pouring water into Klaus’s glass, noticed something. Klaus looked nervous. He kept checking his watch. He was not looking at Adrian. He was looking at Carter. Something is wrong, Sarah thought. Why is the seller nervous? She retreated to the service station, her mind racing. She spoke German. Her grandmother was from Munich, and Sarah had grown up speaking it at home, eventually majoring in it. She knew the nuances, the legalese. If she could just get a look at those papers. The night wore on. Courses came and went. Lobster bisque. Wagyu beef. The tension at the table grew thicker. Adrian was clearly frustrated by the absence of his translator, but his arrogance, and the pressure from Carter, was pushing him to sign.
“Fine,” Adrian said, tossing his napkin onto the table. “Let’s get this over with. Bring the documents.” Carter signaled to a junior lawyer, who placed a thick, leather-bound folder on the table. He opened it to a page dense with German text. “Right here, Adrian,” Carter said, handing him a gold fountain pen. “Sign on the dotted line, and Sterling Vanguard becomes the largest logistics kingpin in the world.” Adrian hesitated. He held the pen, staring at the text. He knew a few words, enough to order dinner or ask for directions, but this was complex legal syntax.