Chapter 2 — The Invisible Employee Knows French

"What if it breaks down? Who can bear this responsibility?"

“Director, you absolutely should not trust her, she specializes in lies!”

Supportive words rang out one after another, and colleagues who normally did not even look at me suddenly competed to stand on Vuong Ky's side. They looked at me as if they were looking at an immeasurable circus performer, someone who was about to drag everyone into the pit with him. Those words fell on me like cold rain, but inside I felt strangely calm. I just quietly looked at Director Truong. I know, the decision is in his hands. Right now, he was like a drowning person, and I was the only straw in front of him—whether real or fake. Take it, or let it go? His face changed continuously: from pale to red to pale blue. I know he is struggling internally, weighing the risks. Trust me—if I screw up, he'll lose his job. Don't believe me—but this situation, it's not getting any better. From inside the meeting room, the sound of chairs being moved was heard. The French man in the lead seemed to have completely lost patience and was preparing to leave. That sound was like a sledgehammer, hitting straight into Director Truong's tense nerves like guitar strings. He gritted his teeth, his bloodshot eyes flashed recklessly like a gambler about to go all in:

“You… you follow me in!”

He almost whispered those words through his teeth, then immediately pushed the surrounding people aside, turned around and walked towards the meeting room.

"Manager!" Vuong Ky shouted, intending to stop, but only received an ice-cold glare and a voice, "Get away!" by director Truong.

I quietly followed behind, clearly feeling the sharp eyes like daggers clinging to my back. Especially Vuong Ky's eyes—full of hatred, as if to say: Lam Van, just wait and die. I took a deep breath, my chest filled with the smell of the cramped air of the office. Pushing open the heavy glass door of the conference room, a strong stream of pressure immediately came. The French man in the lead was named Herve, about fifty years old, with carefully combed hair and a gentlemanly demeanor. He stood up, two assistants next to him also carried their briefcases, ready to leave. On his face was a look of French arrogance and undisguised discomfort. Director Truong immediately bowed down, tried to force a smile that was even more unsightly than crying, stammering an apology in distorted English:

“Sorry, very sorry…”

Mr. Herve frowned, coldly interrupted in French, his voice fast and filled with dissatisfaction. Director Truong was stunned and could only stand there smiling wryly, rubbing his hands awkwardly. The entire meeting room was silent. I gently placed the cup of coffee on the empty chair next to me. The bottom of the cup touched the table with an elegant "click" sound, breaking the silence. All eyes immediately turned to me. I adjusted the hem of my cheap shirt and raised my head to face Mr. Herve's searching eyes. Then I spoke up:

“Monsieur Herve, au nom de notre entreprise, je vous presente nos plus sinceres excuses pour ce desagreable contretemps.”

(Mr. Herve, on behalf of our company, I would like to send my sincerest apologies for this unexpected incident.) My voice was clear and calm, each syllable round and precise as if coming from Paris. Time seemed frozen. Sir Herve was about to turn around and leave when he stopped. His icy blue eyes showed surprise, then slowly turned around, his sharp gaze examining me carefully. The two assistants behind him were also stunned, glancing at each other in shock. Through the glass wall of the meeting room, I could see the faces of Vuong Ky and his colleagues standing stiffly outside. Their mouths were as wide open as if they could fit an egg, their eyes filled with disbelief. The mockery had not yet left Vuong Ky's face, but it had frozen, both funny and pitiful. Director Truong was petrified, looking at me blankly and then turning to Mr. Herve, the expression on his face changing like a color palette. Mr. Herve slowly sat down, folded his arms, leaned forward slightly, and looked at me with completely new eyes—interesting and full of excitement.

“Mademoiselle, vous parlez un francais remarquable.”

(Miss, your French is wonderful.) I smiled slightly and calmly replied:

“Merci, Monsieur. C'est un honneur.”

(Thank you. It's my honor.) I know, I have passed the first hurdle of this crisis. The meeting room door was gently closed, blocking all prying eyes from the outside. Director Truong sat stiffly next to me like a wooden puppet, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on me as if I were an alien creature that had just fallen from the sky. As for me, I was completely involved, entering working mode. Mr. Herve began to explain the purpose of this survey and their expectations. His voice returned to the standard rhythm of a business exchange, interwoven with many specialized terms. I put aside all distracting thoughts, my mind operated at full capacity, accurately grasped every sentence and every word, then translated it fluently into Chinese to convey it to Director Truong.

"Mr. Herve said, they are very interested in the preliminary technical proposal we sent, but the application parameters of the new composite material are still too conservative. They hope to receive more specific test data to strengthen reliability."

While translating, I quickly noted down important keywords in my notebook. After listening to the translation, Director Truong was startled as if awakening from a dream. He quickly turned over the document in front of him, his forehead immediately beaded with sweat. Obviously, this question was beyond his preparation. He faltered a few sentences, only being able to say a few polite words like: "We will add documents after the meeting." Mr. Herve frowned again, the atmosphere began to become awkward. I saw him use his finger to gently tap a point on the technical design, his eyes stopping there for a long time. I suddenly remembered something. When I first started working, I had to sort through a mountain of old technical documents. Included was an internal test report on this very material—which was dismissed from the official proposal because the data were too bold.