Chapter 3 - ECHOES IN THE GLASS TOWER
The dining room was ablaze beneath the crystal chandeliers, but the ambient jazz drifting from the ceiling speakers now sounded like a funeral dirge. As Julian and I pushed through the heavy mahogany doors, Marcus Adler looked up from his iPad. He offered a smile—a flawless, manicured expression wrapped in professional veneer, yet laced with the mocking confidence of a man holding all the cards.
I slipped into the blind spot just behind Julian’s chair. The order from the vault echoed in my mind: No translating. Just watch. I gripped the edges of my service tray until my knuckles turned white.
Herr Schmidt, the rugged German industrialist with tired eyes, was tapping his fountain pen against the linen tablecloth. Gone was his earlier restraint; the rhythm was fast, erratic, and aggressive. A Morse code of extreme impatience.
Julian didn’t sit down. He planted both hands flat on the mahogany table, forcing the room's center of gravity to shift entirely onto the translator.
"Marcus," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Tell Herr Schmidt that I’ve reconsidered. I want the jurisdiction moved from Frankfurt to Zürich, and the asset forfeiture clause must remain intact to protect the minority stakeholders."
Marcus froze. For a fraction of a second, his composure cracked. He turned to Schmidt and unleashed a smooth torrent of German, spinning the demand into a harmless pleasantry, claiming Julian was merely exploring options and would sign the original draft tonight.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. If I opened my mouth, the next treatment for my mother would vanish.
But Julian didn't need me to translate. He read the confusion knitting Herr Schmidt's brow. Without warning, Julian cut through Marcus’s lie, wielding his limited German like a blunt instrument.
"Herr Schmidt. Zürich. Nicht Frankfurt. Protect minorities. Verstehen Sie?"
The tapping stopped. Schmidt’s dull eyes flared with sudden, crystalline sharpness. He slammed his hand down, making the crystal water glasses ring.
"Verstanden!" Schmidt roared, turning a glare of pure venom on Marcus. "Your translator just told me you wanted to scrap the clause entirely! What game are you playing, Vance?"
The temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero.
Marcus shot up, his chair screeching violently against the hardwood. The polished professional vanished, leaving only a cornered animal. "He misunderstood! Julian, you can't believe this—" Marcus stammered, pointing a trembling finger directly at me. "You’re going to let a waitress ruin this? Maya doesn't have security clearance, she doesn't know anything about corporate law!"
Dead silence fell over the table.
Julian walked slowly around the edge of the wood, stepping into the translator’s personal space. A smile as cold as a winter grave touched his lips.
"I never introduced her to you, Marcus," Julian whispered. "How do you know her name is Maya?"
Marcus's jaw dropped, his throat working convulsively, but no sound came out. Julian casually tapped the microphone hidden under his lapel. Within seconds, two men in dark suits materialized from the service exit and dragged the hyperventilating translator out of the room.
The heavy, suffocating silence returned. I barely had time to exhale before Herr Schmidt began to laugh. A deep, rumbling sound that echoed off the walls. The old German slowly clapped his hands. When he spoke, it was in flawless, unaccented English.
"An excellent purge, Vance. You too, Maya."
Schmidt reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a smartphone, and slid it across the table toward Julian. The screen was brightly lit. It wasn't the photo from the hospital entrance. It was a live security feed of my mother’s hospital room—and a dark figure was standing right next to her ventilator.
"You just cleaned up a petty middleman," Schmidt rumbled, raising his glass of red wine. "Now, shall we begin the real negotiations?"
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What leverage should Julian and Maya use against Schmidt in Part 3 to get the upper hand while the man by the ventilator is still in the hospital room?
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