The Sheikh and his sons registered a flicker of surprise. Their own translator, Ibrahim, narrowed his eyes.
“You may,” the Sheikh said, curious.
“My name is Elena Sanchez,” she said. “I am Mr. Thorn’s senior cultural and linguistic advisor. I have only just been brought on to this project. And I must begin, on behalf of Thorn Global, with an apology.”
The temperature in the room changed. The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted.
“We have been reviewing the correspondence,” Elena continued in Arabic, “and it is clear to us that our previous representation did not afford you the respect you are due. They mistook your careful, deliberate planning for hesitation. They failed to understand the nuances of your regional expressions. And in doing so, they replied with a bluntness that I am sure was perceived as arrogance. That was our failure, not yours. And we are here to correct it.”
The Sheikh stared at her. He had not expected this. He looked at Thorn. “Mr. Thorn, this woman speaks for you?”
Thorn, following Elena’s script, nodded. “She does. On all matters of culture and language, Ms. Sanchez’s voice is my voice.”
The Sheikh stroked his beard, then nodded at Elena. “Continue.”
For the next two hours, Elena was a master. She was a conductor, a diplomat, and a dictionary all in one. When Thorn’s lawyers would say, “We need a firm deadline on the regulatory approval,” Elena would translate it as, “Mr. Thorn deeply respects the necessity of the regulatory process and wishes to know how we can best support your timeline to ensure a smooth and swift approval for our mutual benefit.”
When the Sheikh’s son would say in Arabic, “This is impossible. My father will not be pushed,” Ibrahim, the other translator, would translate it to the room as, “This is not possible.”
Elena would politely interject, “If I may, Mr. Ibrahim, I believe the Sheikh’s son’s intent was not just that it is impossible, but that the pacing of the request feels pressured, which is a matter of respect, not capability. Is that correct?”
The son would look at her, shocked, and nod. “Yes, exactly.”
Julian Thorn watched this, mesmerized. She wasn’t just translating. She was diffusing bombs. She was reframing the entire negotiation, not as an argument, but as a collaboration.
Then came the sticking point: a liability clause. The consortium wanted Thorn Global to assume all risk for regulatory delays. Thorn’s lawyers refused. The argument grew heated.
Finally, the Sheikh held up a hand. He spoke to his sons and his translator, Mr. Ibrahim, in rapid-fire Arabic. They were having a private, heated debate. Elena and the Thorn team sat in silence, waiting. The Sheikh was angry.
“This is an insult,” he said in Arabic. “Why should we trust them?”
And then Mr. Ibrahim, the translator, said something quiet and fast to the Sheikh. “Your Excellency, perhaps a compromise. We can agree to their clause, but only if they agree to use our preferred local subcontractor for all labor.”
The Sheikh nodded. “Fine. Propose it.”
Mr. Ibrahim turned to the Thorn team, his face a mask of professional calm. He began to speak in English. “Gentlemen, Ms. Sanchez, the Sheikh is willing to make a concession. He will agree to your liability clause.”
Thorn’s lawyers looked relieved.
“On one small condition. As a show of goodwill, he requests that you prioritize hiring local labor as opportunities allow.”
“A symbolic gesture,” Mr. Cole brightened. “That’s it? A symbolic gesture?”
“Absolutely. We can put that in a memorandum. It’s not even a contractual change.”
Thorn looked at Elena. She was staring, not at Ibrahim, but at her notepad. Her face was pale.
“Ms. Sanchez?” Thorn asked. “Is that acceptable?”
Elena took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment.
“Mr. Thorn,” she said, her voice low and steady. “May I have a word with you and Mr. Cole in private? For one minute.”
The request was a breach of protocol. The Saudi team looked annoyed. Ibrahim looked nervous.
“It is urgent,” she said.
Thorn, honoring his promise, stood up. “Five minutes, gentlemen. Please excuse us.”
They stepped into the private anteroom. The second the door closed, Thorn grabbed her arm. “What is it? That was great news. We won.”
“We’re being cheated,” Elena said, her voice shaking with adrenaline. “That translator, Ibrahim, he’s lying.”
“What?” Cole said. “What do you mean, lying?”..
