A calm male voice replied in Japanese. “This is Kenji, assistant to Mr. Takada. He requested your presence in Conference Room A on Floor 28.”
Her heart sank. “I… I was told not to…”
“He insisted,” Kenji said simply. “Now.”
Anna stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror: messy ponytail, uniform wrinkled from leaning into corners, gloves hanging from her fingers like wilted petals. “I’ll be there,” she said, and hung up.
She stripped off the gloves, washed her hands, and took the back stairwell—faster than waiting for the service elevator. Each floor she passed echoed with her own self-doubt. Was this brave? Or stupid? By the time she reached Floor 28, her chest was tight. She smoothed her uniform as best she could and pushed open the heavy glass doors to Conference Room A.
The room was a symphony of power. Dark mahogany table, leather chairs, three American investors on one side—Ron Wilkins among them, flanked by two men in tailored suits with shark eyes. On the other side sat Hiroshi Takada, calm as a lake, and his assistant Kenji, typing notes silently on a tablet.
Anna froze in the doorway. Ron looked up, eyes narrowing. “What is she doing here?”
Takada didn’t look away from the document in front of him. “She is here to interpret. At my request.”
“She’s a janitor,” Ron said, his voice sharp. “We have professionals scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes.”
Takada turned his gaze toward him. “Then they will wait.”
Ron stood halfway from his chair. “This isn’t acceptable. This meeting is sensitive. She doesn’t even have clearance.”
Takada spoke in Japanese. “Anna-san, tell Mr. Wilkins that I prefer interpreters who do not lie for a living.”
Anna blinked, then translated evenly. Ron’s face darkened with rage. Takada gestured for her to sit. She slid into the empty chair beside him. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice stayed steady. Kenji handed her a document. “Translate for him as he reads.”
She nodded. The meeting began. Technical terms. Intellectual property clauses. Non-disclosure adjustments. Anna translated line by line, seamlessly switching between languages. She caught details the others glossed over and clarified Takada’s requests before Kenji could rephrase them. Every word she spoke felt like walking a tightrope with no net.
At one point, one of the investors leaned in and said, “We assumed your AI patents would be bundled with this deal, Mr. Takada.”
Takada paused, then looked at Anna. She translated. He replied calmly.
“Assumptions are not contracts,” Anna translated back.
The investors shifted uncomfortably. Anna felt a pulse of pride. Halfway through the meeting, Dalton burst into the room, face flushed and jaw clenched. He spotted Anna immediately.
“You,” he hissed. “Out. Now.”
“She was invited,” Takada said without looking up.
Dalton looked at Ron, seeking backup. “She’s a liability,” Ron snapped. “We don’t even know who she really is.”
Anna stood slowly. “I am Anna Jones. I mop floors, yes. I also speak fluent Japanese. And apparently, I’m the only one in this room who knows how to listen.”
Silence. The tension was sharp enough to cut glass. Takada leaned back slightly and placed a hand on the folder in front of him. “If she leaves, I leave.”
Dalton’s mouth opened, then shut. Kenji typed something rapidly. Finally, Ron gave a sharp nod. “Fine. She stays. But she speaks only when spoken to.”
Takada looked at Anna and raised an eyebrow, almost amused. She gave a small nod. She understood the rules. And she would break them only when it mattered.
The meeting continued. At 10:26 AM, Takada closed the folder. “We are done for today.”
The Americans left quickly, whispering to each other. Ron lingered at the door, giving Anna one last look. “Stay in your lane,” he said under his breath.
Anna didn’t flinch. “My lane just merged into yours.”
He scowled and walked off. Once the room cleared, Takada turned to her. “You were better than I expected.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I have another meeting tomorrow. Higher stakes. Will you come again?”
She hesitated. “Mr. Dalton might fire me tonight.”
“If he does,” Takada said, standing, “he’ll regret it.” He left without another word.
Anna sat there for a moment longer, feeling the heat of the morning, the adrenaline, and the disbelief that she had just held her ground against three powerful men in a room she was never supposed to enter. She stood, smoothed her apron, and headed back to the staff level. Whatever happened next, she had already stepped too far to turn around.
By the time Anna returned to the staff floor, the air felt heavier. Whispers had already started spreading like wildfire, half-formed and exaggerated, but carrying just enough truth to sting. “She was in the investor meeting.” “I heard she corrected one of the lawyers, in Japanese.” “They said Mr. Takada smiled because of her.” “That can’t be true, right?”
Anna didn’t respond. She moved quickly through the hall, ignoring the sideways glances. She wasn’t looking for praise, and certainly not permission. But the looks still hurt. It was the same kind of quiet dismissal she’d grown up with—”stay in your place,” masked by polite nods and tight smiles. She headed straight for the janitor’s closet and closed the door behind her. The smell of bleach and old linen was oddly comforting. She leaned against the shelves and let out a breath she’d been holding since the conference room.
He said I was better than expected. And yet, that praise could cost her everything.
A knock on the door startled her. It creaked open. Marta peeked in. “Anna.”
“Yes?”
“Dalton wants you. Right now. His office.”
Anna’s stomach dropped. She nodded silently, removed her apron, and followed Marta out. As she passed through the lobby, she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished window: wrinkled uniform, loosened hair, eyes tired but clear.
Dalton’s office door was already open when she arrived. He was seated behind his desk, not alone. Ron Wilkins stood near the bookshelf, arms crossed, his Rolex glinting under the light. Neither of them looked happy.
“Sit,” Dalton said.
Anna did. There was a long silence.
“You’ve made quite the impression,” Dalton began, his voice measured. “Mr. Takada seems… taken with you.”
“I was just helping,” she replied evenly.
“Yes, well, helping is one thing. Inserting yourself into classified meetings, correcting translations in front of investors, and embarrassing a billion-dollar client partner…”
“She embarrassed you,” Ron cut in.
Dalton raised a hand, trying to maintain a fragile sense of composure. “Regardless, it’s clear this arrangement is… complicated. Mr. Takada requested your presence for tomorrow’s meeting as well.”
Anna didn’t reply.
“I’ve spoken with HR,” Dalton continued. “You’re being placed on administrative hold. Effective immediately. You’ll be paid for this week, but you won’t be on the schedule.”
“Wait,” Anna said, sitting forward. “You’re suspending me for doing my job?”…
