My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 16

My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 16

Berlin.

Stop number three on the documentary tour.

I’d lived here for a year when I was twelve.

As the plane touched down, I looked out at the gray-green expanse of the city, and my heart gave a little kick.

The summer my dad took me to the Brandenburg Gate for ice cream, the Berlin sky was this piercing shade of blue.

We were here to film a segment on the trade history between Europe and Asia. We needed a German translator.

The interviewee was a history professor from Humboldt University who specialized in the Silk Road’s terminal points

in Europe.

His name was Professor Schmidt-sixties, shock of white hair, talked real slow in that perfect High German.

During the interview, he mentioned this private collector in Berlin who had a stash of ancient porcelain that supposedly made its way to Europe via the Silk Road.

“The owner was a diplomat who passed away five years ago,” he said. “His daughter inherited the whole collection, but she’s been a total ghost.”

My hands froze.

“What was his name?”

Schmidt leafed through his notes.

“Jacob… Jacob Lewis.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Jacob Lewis.

My father’s name.

“Where is the collection now?”

“As far as I know, it’s in a private warehouse here. A Swiss law firm has been picking up the storage tab for the last

five years.”

The place was small but climate-controlled-top-of-the-line stuff for artifacts.

When the manager opened the door, I saw three full shelves.

Wall-to-wall porcelain.

Blue and white, famille-rose-about forty pieces in all.

Every single piece had a handwritten tag in my father’s script.

He’d written the name, the era, and the history of each piece in both languages.

I picked up one of the tags.

“Blue and White Lotus Plate. Purchased at the Grand Bazaar, Istanbul, 2008. Accompanied by Hazel.”

“Accompanied by Hazel.”

I was eight years old, with him in Istanbul.

He took me to the Grand Bazaar, I was screaming for Turkish ice cream, but he made me check out this one tiny stall

first.

That stall was where he found these.

I’d completely blanked on it.

But he remembered.

He bought them, one by one, from every corner of the Silk Road, tagged them, and tucked them away in this

warehouse.

Just keeping them safe.

Waiting for me to find them.

I knelt in front of the crates and just broke down.

Three years.

I’d buried everything-the languages, the money, the memories.

I thought if I didn’t touch it, I could pretend they never left.

But they were right here the whole time.

In every word I spoke, on every tag, in every story behind the porcelain.