Chapter 1
The Price He Named
Miles Renn lifted a glass worth more than Nia Bellamy's weekly rent and offered her a hundred thousand dollars to make a fool of herself. He did not phrase it that way. Men like Miles preferred to call cruelty a challenge, especially when someone else stood to lose. Around the private dining room of Boston's Rosebridge Club, publishers and donors paused over dessert. Nia held a tray against her black waistcoat. She had been serving the dinner for four hours. Until she answered a guest in Mandarin, Miles had not bothered to learn her name.
The guest was Lin Shuyun, a novelist whose books Nia had first read beneath a library desk during her lunch breaks. Lin was seventy four, small, silver haired, and unimpressed by the restaurant's attempt to place a flower on every dish. She had asked her daughter whether the pear dessert contained alcohol. Her daughter was answering a call outside. Nia explained in Mandarin that the pears had been poached in wine but the kitchen could offer fresh fruit. Lin thanked her and asked where she had learned the language. Before Nia could answer, Miles laughed.
"Very good. What else do they teach on those apps?"
Nia turned toward him. "Would you like your coffee topped up?"
"I'd like to hear something that wasn't rehearsed."
Across the table, a young editor named Oliver Chen lowered his spoon. Beside him sat Adrian Wells, the man being celebrated that evening as the translator of Lin's forthcoming novel. Adrian had not looked directly at Nia since she entered. She recognized him immediately. Three years earlier, they had shared a desk, a packet of cheap biscuits, and a project he later told her had gone nowhere. She had assumed the invitation list contained a coincidence. Now a blue advance copy of Lin's novel lay beside his plate, its English title unfamiliar.
Nia looked at the book again. Beneath the title, in silver letters, stood the words Translated by Adrian Wells. Her fingers tightened around the tray. The original manuscript had been called The House Beyond the Rain. The new English title was A Lantern for the Missing. Titles changed during publication. Translators, apparently, could change too. She wanted to open the book. She also wanted to leave the room before anyone noticed how suddenly she could not breathe. Her manager, Beatrice Cole, waited near the door, watching the table with the practiced unease of someone responsible for keeping important people pleased.
She had learned not to correct a guest while balancing glassware. The body needed somewhere to put its alarm, and hands were an expensive place to leave it. Dani caught her eye across the service station and pointed toward a spare stand. Nia set the tray down before answering. The simple precaution returned a little control. Whatever happened next, she would not be holding something breakable while someone decided how much her words should cost.
Miles was still speaking. His wealth came from private investments, but his favorite possession was the reputation of being a patron of difficult talent. He endowed prizes, hosted dinners, and appeared beside authors whose books he rarely finished. Tonight he was introducing Renn House Foundation's international literature program. "A hundred thousand dollars," he said. "Ten minutes in Mandarin. Real conversation, not ordering lunch. Then translate something our distinguished guest chooses. If you can do it, I'll pay. If you can't, perhaps we can stop pretending everyone is an expert." Several people smiled because they had not yet decided whether they were allowed not to.
"She's working," Oliver said.
"Then this could be a very profitable shift."
Lin watched Nia, then Miles. She spoke English well enough to understand the exchange, although she preferred an interpreter for formal events. "Do you want to participate?" she asked Nia in Mandarin.
Nia answered in the same language. "I want to know whether he means the money. I don't want to become his entertainment."
Lin nodded. Miles looked delighted by sounds he could not follow. "There we are. A promising start."
Nia translated her answer. The delight thinned. At the far end of the table, Adrian reached for his water glass without drinking.
Beatrice approached and asked whether Nia wanted another server to cover her station. Nia said yes, if her scheduled pay and gratuity share remained unchanged. Beatrice hesitated, then agreed. Dani Ortiz, her friend from the service team, took the tray. "You can leave," Dani whispered. "You don't owe them a trick." Nia knew that. The knowledge mattered. She looked again at the blue book. Leaving would not unread Adrian's name. She asked Miles to define the challenge in writing, including who would assess it and when he would pay. She would not wager her job, wages, or right to object to mistreatment.