My Husband Brought His Mistress To A Business Dinner To Humiliate His “Useless” Wife. He Didn’t Know I Speak Eight Languages Or That I’m The One Who Actually Owns Our Mansion. Am I Wrong For Letting Him Ruin Himself?
A Symphony of Words
Richter let out a laugh, a hearty laugh that echoed through the room. He applauded, a loud applause dedicated only to me.
“Bravo! Magnificent!”
Those around us, though they didn’t understand the content of the conversation, seeing the reaction of the German delegation, began to applaud as well. The applause spread, crackling like a downpour. There I sat in the midst of the applause and admiration with a strange calm.
I looked at Julian. He stood there, smaller and more pathetic than ever. He looked at me as if I were a monster. In his eyes there was no gratitude, only fear. He knew that from that moment on, the golden cage and Greenwich could no longer hold me.
The entire room seemed to have become my personal stage. Admiration spread from the main table throughout the vast space of the Apex Club. The guests who had previously looked at me with pity now whispered, casting glances of curiosity and respect.
Julian remained there, rooted to the spot like a cracked statue. He dared neither to sit nor to leave. He could only watch helplessly as the wife he had scorned shone with her own light, completely eclipsing his diminutive shadow. But the challenge was not over. H&G was a multinational, and those accompanying Richter were old wolves from all over the world.
After subduing the Frenchman Dubois, a burly man with a thick beard sitting opposite Richter spoke up. It was Petrov, the Russian representative in charge of the energy and raw materials market. Petrov did not mince words. He set his glass of vodka down on the table with a sharp thud, looked at me with eyes that seemed like glowing embers, and spoke in a deep Russian voice, a strong and powerful language.
“Mrs. Eleanor, you speak very well of logistics, but I am interested in money. The world price of oil is very volatile. How can you guarantee that the cost of fuel for transport won’t eat into our profits? If the price of crude goes up 20% next month, who will absorb that difference? We will not accept that risk.”
Petrov’s question went straight for the financial jugular. It was a problem that stumped many American companies in international negotiations, often leading to massive losses for lack of price hedging tools. Julian, hearing Petrov’s brusque tone, turned pale. He turned to me, tried to say something, but held back. He remembered my sharp gaze from before and swallowed his words.
I smiled with confidence and calm. I turned to Petrov and answered him in fluent Russian with a perfect Moscow accent, energetic yet sharp.
“Mr. Petrov, your concern is entirely justified. But we are not amateurs playing the market. We have already signed hedging contracts to lock in the price of fuel with international financial institutions for the entire next quarter. Even if the price of oil rises by 30%, your transport cost will remain fixed according to the price agreed upon in this contract today. Your risk is zero.”
Petrov was stunned for a second, then burst into a thunderous laugh. He gave a thumbs up and nodded repeatedly.
“Very good! A woman who understands financial derivatives. I like the way you do business.”
Without giving time for the tension to dissipate, Mr. Tanaka, the Japanese strategic market adviser who had remained silent and observant, adjusted his glasses. He was known for being meticulous and reserved. Tanaka didn’t ask about technology or money. He asked about culture and people, the key factor for entering the Asian market. He spoke in Japanese, his voice soft but firm.
“Eleanor-san, H&G wants to expand in Southeast Asia, but we fear that cultural differences will be an obstacle. What strategy do you propose for a German industrial product to integrate into the local market without losing its identity?”
It was a question of business philosophy. An inadequate answer could sound empty. I turned to Tanaka, bowing my head in the Japanese manner with respect.
“Tanaka-san, as the American proverb says, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’ We will not rigidly sell a German product. We will sell a locally adapted German solution. We will create a team of local engineers trained with German discipline but with a deep understanding of local consumer habits. It will be a fusion of the samurai spirit and German tank-like precision. Harmony, not imposition.”
Upon hearing this, Tanaka’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses. He clasped his hands and returned the bow, an uncommon gesture for proud Japanese businessmen towards foreign women.
“Wonderful. Your vision is very profound.”
Finally, the representative from Italy, Mr. Romano, an elegant man with wavy hair, raised his wine glass. He no longer tested me. He looked at me with pure admiration.
“Signora Eleanor, I have never seen anyone switch between languages and cultural mindsets with such fluency. You are like an orchestra conductor leading a symphony of words. It is an honor for us.”
I raised my glass of water and replied in Italian as smooth as velvet.
“Grazie per i complimenti. Thank you for the compliment, sir. Languages are bridges, and I am merely a devoted builder of bridges.”
