He approached the panoramic window. Down there, millions of lives swarmed. Millions like her.
Ants. Dust under his feet. So why does one speck irritate so much? He took a big sip.
The drink burned his throat but brought no relief. He replayed that short scene in his head again and again. Her quiet voice.
How she straightened her back. The absence of subservience. She didn’t beg, didn’t complain, didn’t justify.
She just stated a fact. And in that was her strength. Strength she shouldn’t have.
«She’s just a liar,» he said aloud, and his voice echoed through the empty living room. A little cunning liar who decided to impress. But this explanation didn’t work.
Something in her manner, in her absolute calm, contradicted it. He drank more. The night dragged on torturously long.
The next day, he met with Marcel and Victor at their private country club. They played golf on the perfectly manicured lawn. The sun shone brightly, servants in snow-white gloves served refreshments.
Everything was as usual. A world of abundance, calm, and unshakable rules. «You’re distracted today, Richard,» Victor noted when he missed the ball for the third time.
Still thinking about your millions? No, Richard grumbled, adjusting his club. I’m still thinking about yesterday’s girl. Marcel burst out laughing.
Come on, forget it, who cares. She’s probably already forgotten your name. They have short memories.
It’s not her that angers me, but her insolence, Richard hissed. Imagine declaring that to my face. Eight languages.
I pay a fortune for translators to do business worldwide. And here some janitor… Well, maybe she meant she knows eight swear words in different languages, Victor joked again. They learn that quickly on the streets.
Richard, it’s just funny. You are Richard Salazar. She is nobody.
An empty place. You pointed her to her place, that’s all. It was an act of mercy.
Perhaps you’re right, Richard tried to convince himself. He hit the ball with full force, and it flew far ahead. The shot was excellent.
For a moment, he felt better. But over lunch, the conversation returned to the topic. Richard couldn’t hold back.
What if she didn’t lie? he suddenly asked, looking at his friends. Marcel stopped chewing his steak. What? Richard, are you sick? How is that possible? Where would she learn them? In the alley? Don’t make me laugh.
To learn a language, you need the best teachers, trips, environment. Money, in the end. She has none of that.
It’s the law of nature. Exactly, Victor chimed in. It’s like saying a stone from the pavement could be a diamond.
There’s breed, Richard. You and I. We’re from good breed. And she… She’s from cobblestones.
Her place is on the road. Not in a jewelry store. Their words were logical.
They matched everything Richard had believed his whole life. The world was arranged simply and clearly. There are strong and weak.
There are smart and stupid. There are those who rule and those who serve. And no fairy tales about equal opportunities, which he himself told from the stage, could change that.
But why then didn’t this splinter leave his head? The next few days turned into torture. He tried to work, but thoughts kept drifting. During an important video meeting with partners from Japan, he caught himself staring at the translator and thinking, «Could she do it?» Without all those diplomas and expensive suits.
He snapped at his secretary for a trivial mistake in the schedule. He didn’t sleep at night, tossing in his huge bed and staring at the ceiling. The image of the girl with dark eyes became an obsession.
Her calm was a challenge to his entire world. If she told the truth, then his whole world, built on superiority, money, and status, was a lie. If a poor orphan girl mopping floors can possess such a treasure as knowledge of eight languages, then what are all his achievements worth? What is he worth? The thought was so unbearable that he drove it away.
No. It can’t be. She’s a liar.
Cunning, sly, deceiver. And he must prove it. Not for anyone.
For himself. To sleep peacefully again. To regain confidence that the world is arranged correctly.
Irritation grew into cold, calculated rage. Obsession. He could no longer endure it.
He needed to know the truth. He needed to expose her. Crush her lie so her calm gaze would forever fade from his memory.
On Friday evening, he sat in his office. Reports worth hundreds of millions lay on the table, but he didn’t see them. He picked up the phone and dialed his personal assistant and head of security in one person.
Arthur was a man of action, executive and completely devoid of curiosity. The perfect tool. «Arthur!» Richard said into the receiver, his voice firm and cold as steel.
«I have a special assignment for you.» «Listening, sir.» came the impassive voice on the other end.
On Wednesday at the charity event at the Grand Imperial Hotel, a janitor worked. A girl, about sixteen-seventeen. Named Lucia.
Dark-skinned, thin, with big eyes. «I understand, sir. I need all information about her.
Everything. Where she lives, with whom, where she studies, if she studies at all. Every step of hers.
Every breath. And the main thing…» Richard paused. «I want to know where this tale of hers about eight languages came from.
Find proof that it’s a lie. Talk to her neighbors, teachers, anyone. I want a full report that leaves no stone unturned from her lie.
Do you understand? — Absolutely, sir. How much time do I have?» Richard looked at the night city lights outside the window. «I want the report on my desk Monday morning.»
He hung up. For a moment, he felt better. «The machine is started.
Soon this absurd story will end. He’ll get proof, and the ghost of the little janitor will disappear forever. He’ll get his world back.»
But somewhere deep in his soul, cold fear stirred. What if Arthur doesn’t find proof of her lie? What if he finds proof of the opposite? Richard squeezed the empty glass in his hand with force. No, that can’t be.
It just can’t be. Monday began with deafening silence. Richard didn’t touch breakfast.
He stood at his office window, looking at the city that lay at his feet, but feeling nothing but dull irritation. Every passing car, every hurrying pedestrian seemed part of some huge meaningless bustle. He waited.
Exactly at nine zero zero, a quiet knock sounded at the door. «Come in,» Richard threw without turning. Arthur entered noiselessly, like a shadow.
In his hands was a thin folder of gray cardboard. He placed it on the edge of the massive black wood table. «You asked for the report, sir.»
Richard slowly turned. He fixed his gaze first on his assistant, then on the folder, as if it were a snake ready to strike. «And?» His voice was sharp.
«You crushed this little liar. What’s there?» Neighbors’ testimonies who never heard a word from her in foreign. School records confirming her, to put it mildly, modest abilities.
Arthur maintained an impassive expression. «Sir, the folder contains all facts, objective data, without speculation.» «I don’t need facts, Arthur.
I need confirmation,» Richard barked, taking a step to the table. «Open and read.» «Aloud.
I want to hear her lie crumble to dust.» Arthur opened the folder with a barely noticeable sigh. Lucia Moreira, 16 years old.
No citizenship, has refugee status. Parents, John and Amelia Moreira, died in a car accident three years ago. «Refugee,» Richard spat with contempt.
«Orphan.» A classic story to evoke pity. Go on.
Lives with older sister Ines Moreira, 21, in a rented apartment in the Harlem district, San Juan Street, house 42. Sister works two jobs—waitress during the day and janitor at night. Lucia herself is not officially employed, helps her sister with cleaning in the evenings to make ends meet.
Doesn’t go to school. «Doesn’t go to school,» Richard laughed triumphantly. The laugh came out unpleasant, barking.
«Of course! Where would eight languages come from if she doesn’t even go to school?» «Everything’s clear. Case closed. You can burn this trash.»..
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