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My Interpreter Mistranslates Every Threat novel · Chapter 1 of 24

Chapter 1: Day Three

Yan Shiliang orders his interpreter to tell the Norvane minister his son's contract will be in the papers, Lu Wen quietly turns it into a question, and in the empty lift Yan answers him in Norvane: "You left out the son."

On the third morning, Yan Shiliang told the Minister of Trade of Norvane that his harbour would rust.

Lu Wen, standing at his right shoulder, said in the Minister's language, "Mr. Yan hopes the berth schedule can be made reliable for both sides."

The Minister nodded and wrote it down.

Nobody at the long table on the forty-first floor noticed the difference.

Nobody at the table spoke both languages except Lu Wen.

That was the reason the agency had sent him.

He had done it a handful of times on the first day and more on the second.

The second day had been worse because the sentences had been worse.

Each time he told himself it was the last.

The sentences came from a six-page memo that lay in front of Yan.

Gao Bingcheng, the Group's vice chairman, had initialled every page of it.

Gao sat at the far end of the table with his own copy and a satisfied face.

He did not speak a word of Norvane, and he watched the Minister's face for damage.

"Next," Yan said in Chinese, without looking up.

He read from the memo in a level voice.

"Tell him the dredging contract at Haldeck went to a company owned by his son."

Lu Wen kept his hands still on the notepad.

"Tell him I can have that in the Norvane papers by Friday."

Across the table sat the Minister, sixty-three years old, with a small silver ship pinned to his tie.

He had asked Lu Wen on the first morning whether the tea was too strong for him.

He had not yet been unkind to anyone in the room.

Lu Wen knew what the sentence would do.

The Minister would stand, and the talks would end.

A son would be questioned in a country where Lu Wen had once spent a student year.

He also knew what the agency contract said.

The agency boss who had placed him on the job had said it twice on the phone that morning.

You interpret exactly, Lu Wen, or you don't interpret for us again.

His sister's nursing tuition was covered by a bank loan that the agency had co-signed.

Lu Wen opened his mouth.

"Mr. Yan asks," he said in the Minister's language, "whether the Haldeck dredging work went to open tender, as the Group's own contracts do."

The Minister's pen stopped.

For a moment Lu Wen was sure he had heard the whole thing in the pause.

Then the old man smiled a little, tired and polite.

"It did," he said. "I will have the file sent over this afternoon. I would like Mr. Yan to see that everything is in order."

Lu Wen turned and gave it back in Chinese, word for word.

Gao leaned forward.

"He didn't flinch," Gao said, pleased, to the table. "Our friend doesn't even blink. Keep pushing, Shiliang."

"I intend to," said Yan.

Qiao Min, the chief of staff, wrote something on her pad without lifting her eyes.

The session broke for lunch at noon.

Lu Wen gathered his notes with hands that were not quite steady and let the others go ahead.

He had just decided, in front of a dozen people, to lie for a stranger and a stranger's son.

It was the biggest lie yet, and the only one that could end his career by Friday.

He waited for the second lift because he did not want to ride down with Gao.

The doors opened on an empty car, and he stepped in and pressed the lobby.

A hand stopped the doors from closing.

It was Yan Shiliang, thirty-four years old, in a charcoal suit, with the memo folded in his left hand.

He stepped in alone.

The doors shut.

He pressed nothing and stood facing the brushed steel, a half step too close, and the lift began to descend.

Lu Wen counted floors to have something to do.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-six.

Yan turned his head.

"You left out the son," he said.

He said it in Norvane, and he said it without an accent.

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