My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 15

My Bully Mocked Me in Front of the CEO So I Destroyed Her in Seven Languages Chapter 15

The plane took off.

I watched the clouds outside the window.

Eight languages, a ten-million-dollar inheritance, and three years of silence.

I didn’t know where this journey was taking me.

But finally, I was moving.

The sun in Dubai was nothing like back home.

It was dry and fierce, like it could burn right through your shadow.

The crew was fifteen people deep. The director was a guy in his fifties named Zane Wilson-he’d been making documentaries his whole life.

“You’re Hazel Levis? The girl who speaks eight languages?”

“That’s me.”

“Alright, let’s test you out. Give me a quick translation.”

He handed me an interview outline in Arabic.

I looked at it for ten seconds and translated it verbally into English on the spot.

Zane turned to Rowan. “That’s it. She’s the one. She’s better than those three agencies put together.”

The first stop was an antique market in Dubai’s Old Town.

The documentary was about the merchants of the Silk Road. We visited a Persian carpet shop that had been open for forty years, run by a third-generation Iranian.

I needed to provide simultaneous Arabic-to-English translation.

Before we started, the owner asked me in Arabic, “You’re American? Your Arabic sounds like you learned it in Cairo.”

“It was. I lived in Cairo as a kid.”

“Cairo Arabic has the scent of the Nile.” He smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

The interview lasted two hours.

The owner told stories about the Silk Road-how his grandfather traveled from Isfahan with a single roll of carpet, and about the porcelain and tea from the Maritime Silk Road.

As I translated, I suddenly thought of my dad.

During our year in Cairo, he’d take me to the markets in the Old City. He would crouch down and chat with the old spice merchants, laughing loudly in his slightly broken Arabic.

My Arabic was learned in those markets.

It wasn’t the textbook stuff, it was the dialect of the streets, full of life.

After we wrapped, Zane patted my shoulder.

“Good job. Tomorrow we hit Abu Dhabi for an Emirati investor, in Spanish. Then it’s Istanbul to interview a French archaeologist in French. You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

That night, the crew had dinner at the hotel.

My phone buzzed. It was Arthur, Caleb’s assistant.

“Mr. Sterling wants to know if things went smoothly today.”

I replied: “All good. Tell him not to worry about me.”

Arthur: “Mr. Sterling told me to let you know he’s at his office in the Burj Khalifa, 58th floor. Call him if you need

anything.”

I didn’t answer.

Then my phone rang again. This time it was Caleb.

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m eating now.”

“The food in Dubai can be a bit ‘hit or miss’ for us. If you want a taste of home, there’s a great place over on Jumeirah Beach Road-”

“Mr. Sterling, why are you telling me this?”

“I’m looking out for you.”

“I don’t need looking after, thanks.”

“Fine. I’ll stop. Goodnight.”

He hung up.

I stared at my phone for a second.

The cameraman, Sam, leaned over.

“Hazel, who was that? Your boyfriend?”

“No. A client.”

“A client checks to see if you’ve had dinner?”

“A meddling one.”

Sam chuckled.

The next two weeks were a blur: Dubai to Abu Dhabi, then Istanbul.

In Istanbul, I interviewed a French archaeologist at the ruins of Troy.

He said, “The Silk Road wasn’t just a route, it was a conversation. People of different tongues sat together and exchanged goods for trust.”

My voice was a bit raspy as I translated that.

Because my dad had said almost the exact same thing.

Zane gave me a thumbs-up from behind the lens.

On the flight to Berlin, I got an email.

Sender: Wendy.

No Subject.

The body was just one line:

“After you left, the company cut the French and Spanish teams. Joseph said one person like you is enough. Seven people lost their jobs because of you. Happy now?”

I looked at the email and hit delete.

Chloe’s text popped up almost instantly.

“Don’t listen to Wendy! Those teams were cut because their numbers were in the trash. It has nothing to do with you! She’s just trying to get under your skin!”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Mochi is great, but he’s definitely gained some weight. Come back soon, I can’t afford to feed him anymore!”

I smiled.