My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 13

My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 13

The news of Wendy’s demotion was all over the building by lunch.

The rest of the team kept their mouths shut in the office, but their group chats were on fire.

“About damn time. Her translations were average at best-she only got the gig because of who she was sleeping with.”

“You guys didn’t know? Hazel’s been cleaning up every single one of her drafts for years.”

“What?!”

“Seriously. I’ve seen the proofing logs.”

“How many did Hazel fix?”

“At least a hundred. Easy.”

If Wendy heard that, she’d probably have a total meltdown.

I didn’t give a damn.

At 5 PM, just as I was packing up, a stranger walked in.

A woman in her forties with short hair and a sharp gray trench coat. She looked like she meant business.

She walked straight to our area. “Which one of you is Hazel Levis?”

I looked up.

“That’s me.”

She handed me a card.

“Hi, I’m Rowan Hudson, a producer at Flagship Media. We’re pre-pro on a major international documentary, and we need a multilingual consultant.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Industry word of mouth. Your work with East Ridge and that Spanish brand has been making waves.”

I glanced at the card.

Flagship Media. One of the top production houses in the country.

“Ms. Hudson, what’s the project?”

“A documentary covering the Silk Road. We need simultaneous translation and subtitle proofing in five languages: Spanish, English, French, Arabic, and Russian. We checked three agencies and nobody could cover all five-until someone told me there was a girl at GTS who speaks eight.”

“Who told you that?”

Rowan smiled.

“Caleb Sterling. He’s one of our lead investors.”

Caleb again.

“What’s the consulting fee?”

“Twenty grand a month. Three-month contract.”

Sixty thousand total.

That was basically three years of my old salary in ninety days.

“Ms. Hudson, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Sure, no rush. But heads up-we start next month on location in the Middle East and Europe. You’ll be on the road for

two months.”

After she left, I just sat there staring into space.

Chloe leaned in.

“What was that? Who was the trench coat?”

“A producer. She wants me for a documentary gig.”

“How much?”

“Twenty grand a month.”

Chloe’s jaw hit the floor.

“Are… are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re undecided?! That’s twenty grand! You could grind here until retirement and never see that kind of money!”

“But if I leave, who handles the East Ridge coordination?”

“Caleb is literally handing you career gold on a silver platter, and you’re still worried about GTS?!”

I gave a small laugh.

Yeah. What the hell was I worried about?

When I got home, Mochi was waiting by the door.

Meowing louder than usual.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. You’re starving.”

I fed him and sat by the window.

Another email from Mr. Langley. Attached was a list of assets.

The Zurich account, the Munich estate, and a small place in the 16th arrondissement of Paris I hadn’t known about.

Total value: nearly ten million dollars.

I stared at the number for a long time.

My parents lived for languages.

My mom always said, “Language is the perfect bridge.”

My dad said, “If you understand a man’s mother tongue, you understand his heart.”

They carved the world’s languages into my DNA.

And then they were gone.

I hid those languages away, right along with the memories of them.

Because every time I spoke a different tongue, I’d remember exactly how they looked when they were teaching me.

German was Berlin-my dad teaching me while we ate ice cream in front of the Brandenburg Gate.

French was Paris-my mom reading Maupassant to me by the Seine.

Arabic was Cairo-the three of us on a Nile cruise, my dad teaching me to count while we watched the stars.

Every language was a memory.

And I just wasn’t ready to open them.