The Quiet Game
The sound of laughter sounded like crystal at the Damascus Rose Restaurant’s private dining area.
Watching twelve members of the Almanzor family converse in rapid-fire Arabic that flowed over me like water over rocks, I sat silently with my fork over the uncooked lamb. I was informed that I didn’t comprehend a single word.
With his hand on my shoulder and no translation, my fiancé Tariq sat at the head of the table. His mother, Leila, looked at me with the falcon’s eyes and the faint smile of a woman who knew how it would end.
“She doesn’t even know how to make coffee,” Tariq added in Arabic to his brother, laughing. “Yesterday, she used a machine.”
Omar
nearly suffocated on his booze. “A machine?” “You intend to wed that?”
I calmed my face and took a gulp of water. Six months had passed since Tariq proposed to me, and I was still wearing the same mask. They thought I was that stupid American girl who didn’t understand them. They were mistaken.
I gave Tariq a small smile as he approached. “My mother says you look lovely tonight, Habibti.”
Leila had just told me that I looked cheap because of my outfit. Still, I gave him my gratitude.
Tariq’s father, Hassan, lifted his glass. “New problems” and “To family—and to new beginnings,” his daughter stated in Arabic. More enjoyable. “The kind who doesn’t even know she’s being insulted,” Tariq said.
I took notes on everything they said and laughed along with them.
In the restroom, I glanced at my phone. My father’s security department chief, James Chen, wrote me a note. The audio from the last three family dinners has been transcribed and translated. Your father is trying to find out if you’re prepared.
I typed “Not yet.” I need business meeting recordings first.
I was Sophie Martinez, a gullible recent graduate who had begun working for my father’s consultancy business in Dubai eight years prior.
I had studied Arabic and culture till it came naturally to me. I was able to negotiate in Classical Arabic more effectively than most native speakers when I returned to Boston as COO.
And then there was Tariq Al-Mansur. He was handsome, a Harvard graduate, and the heir to a big Saudi company.
The ideal method for my father’s company to enter a market it was never able to fully penetrate. I had that thought.
Within a few months, he proposed to me after courting me with calculated charm. I didn’t say “yes” because I loved him. The fact that he had chosen me for reasons colder than mine was unknown to me at the time.
Everything had been revealed during the first family dinner. In Arabic, they ridiculed my appearance, my occupation, and even my capacity to bear children.
Along with their laughter, Tariq had referred to me as “too American” and “too independent.” I pretended to be perplexed and smiled politely before going home to compile a list of all the insults.
After two months, I was aware of their true intentions. Blackstone Consulting, our biggest competitor, was collaborating with Tariq’s group to steal Martinez Global’s plans and client lists. He used our relationship, knowing that I wouldn’t notice because I was too stupid.
He was unaware that I was utilizing jewelry that my father’s tech team had altered—his personal gifts—to record everything.
Tomorrow, he will meet with investors from Qatar to present stolen material. That, he believed, would render him untouchable. Rather, it would destroy him.
It took a while to finish dinner. Leila questioned me about my work. “After you get married, will you continue to work?”
I gave Tariq a look. “The choice will be decided jointly.”
“A wife’s first duty is to her family,” she continued. “Men ought to work.”
“Obviously,” I replied quietly. “First and foremost, family.”
Everyone became more relaxed. Nobody was aware that I had previously committed to a ten-year executive contract.
Tariq drove me home after supper, smiling with pride. “You were flawless. They are concerned about you.
“Really?” I inquired.
“Obviously. You’re courteous and kind, according to my mother.
He gave my hand a kiss. I grinned. “That is very significant.”
When he was gone, I poured some wine and opened the transcript for the evening. I stopped dead in my tracks at one line:
“Sophie tells me everything,” Tariq informed his father. “She believes that her business acumen is impressing me.” She is unaware that what she is offering me would enable us to outbid them.
However, I had never mentioned to him our contracts in Abu Dhabi and Qatar. That suggested that Martinez Global was spied on.
Richard Torres, my father’s longstanding vice president in Dubai, was a mentor, a colleague, and a traitor, James affirmed. Then we would confront him in the morning.
At 7:45 a.m., I arrived at my dad’s office with two cups of coffee. He was already reviewing the proof, which included emails, financial transfers, and all of the mentioned betrayals. Richard smiled as he entered, but his face became pale upon seeing the folder.
He pleaded, “I had a lot of debt.” “They made a financial offer.” I didn’t believe—
“You gave selling trade secrets enough thought,” Patricia Chen of Legal remarked.
My father threatened to put him in jail unless he resigned, confessed, and cooperated with the police. With trembling hands, Richard signed each sheet.
When my dad left, he gave me a glance. “Are you prepared for the meeting with Tariq?”
“More than prepared.”
That afternoon, Tariq gave a call. “Big investors prefer face-to-face meetings.” Go with me, Habibti. “They value family.”
“Obviously,” I said.
He was bursting at the seams when he picked me up at 1:30. In the elevator to the hotel’s top floor, he straightened his tie. “Almazor Holdings will dominate the Gulf market going forward.”
“How?” I asked.
“By taking things that other people don’t deserve.” “The strong make it through.”
He was unaware that a trap was waiting for him on the upper floor.
In the executive suite were my father, two Qatari officials, and one of the most reputable investors in the Gulf, Sheikh Abdullah Al-Thani.
Tariq halted. “I don’t understand.”
“This was your opportunity to demonstrate stolen tactics,” Sheikh Abdullah retorted icily. “It’s your time to pay instead.”
He placed documents on the table, including transcripts of our dinners, bank statements, and Richard Torres’s confession. “Were you aware that she comprehended all you said?”
I recognized what was happening as Tariq’s eyes locked with mine.
Then I spoke in flawless Arabic. “You were curious about the purpose of this meeting. It has to do with justice. About what happens when you don’t give the people you try to con enough credit.
He took a seat in his chair.
The Sheikh continued. “Your actions violate international business law. Every major investor will be aware of your efforts tomorrow.
“Please, my family didn’t know—”
“They teased her with you,” the Sheikh said. “They feel embarrassed by you.”
The sound of my father’s voice was like calm steel. You will be required to provide a detailed description of all the documents you took and all of the people you spoke with at Blackstone. Under oath, you will testify. You won’t see my daughter, either.
Tariq gave a thoughtless nod.
I gave him one last glance. You once questioned me about why I put in so much effort. I didn’t want to be dependent on someone like you.
The conference ended in silence. Tariq remained to deliver his remarks.
By the end of the day, the fallout had begun. The administration of Sheikh Abdullah said in a statement that they were severing all ties with the Almanzors due to their failure to uphold our standards of integrity. Within hours, their contracts were dissolved.
Although Richard didn’t face any criminal charges and complied completely, his career was ended. Blackstone promptly made an effort to distance itself by providing us with evidence to back up our allegation.
When Leila called me, she was furious. “We’ll get together. We have to solve this.
“In my world, Mrs. Almanzor, we call it fraud,” I said in Arabic. “And we pursue it.”
The connection was broken by her gasp. “Are you able to speak Arabic?”
“All this time,” I replied, and hung up.
Martinez Global received a settlement offer three days later, which included the entire $200 million plus the lawsuit’s expenses. We agreed.
The victory was based on more than simply money; it was based on values. The tale, which served as a warning not to mistake stillness for ignorance, spread subtly around the world.
A week later, a handwritten note from Tariq was sent via courier.
You were right. I exploited you. I ridiculed you. I reminded myself that it was only work. I was wrong. It’s all gone for my family. Now I’m heading out of Boston.
I want you to know that you outperformed me, but I don’t ask for forgiveness. I always underestimated your intelligence.
I tore up the letter after taking a photo of it for the record. Maintain records at all times.
I returned to the Damascus Rose restaurant three weeks later. The people were different, but the chandeliers remained the same. Sheikh Abdullah hosted a meal to celebrate cooperation and fairness.
Toggling between Arabic and English, he raised a glass to “Sophie Martinez” and remarked, “Who reminded us never to underestimate a quiet woman?”
The laughter filled the room.
Later, he drew me aside. “My daughter studies business at Oxford.” She aspires to emulate you.
I grinned. “Therefore, the future is in capable hands.”
I reflected on everything as I drove home under the Boston lights: the lesson, the betrayal, the insults, and the dinners. My phone showed a last message.
It’s Amira here. I’m sorry about how we treated you. I never learned as much from pride as I did from seeing my family disintegrate. Don’t answer, please.
I didn’t. However, I kept it. Deep enough scars from some teachings can alter a person.
As a display of pride and poor judgment, the engagement ring was hidden out of sight. I would eventually sell it and provide the proceeds to women who wish to start their own companies.
For the time being, it served as a reminder that patience is a sign of strength and quietness does not.
I had learned the language of strategy during my eight years in Dubai, but this experience taught me something even more valuable: the value of patience, the long term, and the strength that comes from being underestimated.
I poured a glass of wine for myself and gazed at the city. Tomorrow, I would complete our new expansion in Qatar. I’ll be the Executive Vice President of Global Operations in a month.
Tonight, I gave myself permission to enjoy one private toast.
We now know two things. And to silent wins.
To new beginnings.
The Arabic words seemed to belong to me.
