Eduardo laughed heartily in his lavish office. “I’ll give you all my fortune if you translate this.” Rosa, the cleaning woman, took the paper with trembling hands. The words that escaped her lips froze Eduardo’s laughter forever.
Leaning back in his $10,000 Italian leather chair, Eduardo Santillán gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 47th floor, watching tiny figures scurry along the city streets that practically belonged to him.
By age 45, he had amassed a real estate empire that made him the wealthiest man in the country, yet also the most ruthless. His office was a shrine to his ego, featuring black marble walls, artwork worth more than entire houses, and a panoramic view that constantly reminded him of his superiority.
However, Eduardo relished not just his wealth but the power it gave him to belittle those he deemed inferior. “Mr. Santillán,” a quivering voice from his secretary interrupted his musings through the intercom. “The translators have arrived.” “Let them in,” he replied with a cruel grin. It was time for the show.
For the past week, Eduardo spread the word around the city about a challenge he believed was utterly impossible. He’d received a mysterious document as part of a family inheritance, written in multiple languages that no one had fully deciphered.
This ancient text contained characters that seemed to intertwine Arabic, Mandarin, Sanskrit, and other languages that even experts struggled to identify. But to Eduardo, this was his favorite game of public humiliation. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he exclaimed as the five most prestigious translators of the city nervously entered his office.
“Welcome to the challenge that will either make you millionaires or public failures.” The translators exchanged anxious glances. Among them were Dr. Martínez, a language specialist, Professor Chen, an expert in Chinese dialects, Hassan al Rashid, a translator of Arabic and Persian, Dr. Petrova, a linguist specializing in dead languages, and Roberto Silva, boasting proficiency in over 20 languages.
“Here’s the document,” Eduardo waved the ancient papers dismissively. “If any of you genius linguists can fully translate this text, I will give you all my fortune, all of it. We’re talking about 500 million dollars.” The silence in the room was deafening.
The translators gasped at the magnitude of the offer. But Eduardo continued with a sadistic smile, “When you fail miserably, and I’m sure you will, each of you will owe me a million dollars for wasting my time, and you’ll have to publicly admit you’re charlatans.”
“Mr. Santillán,” stuttered Dr. Martínez, “that amount is excessive. None of us has…”
“Exactly.” Eduardo interrupted, slamming his hand on the desk. “None of you has a million dollars because you’re not worth a million dollars. But I do have 500 million because I’m superior to all of you.”
The tension could be felt in the room. The translators exchanged horrified and humiliated glances. “What’s wrong?” Eduardo began circling around them like a predator stalking its prey. “You don’t feel so confident in your skills anymore. You’re not eager to prove how smart you are.”
At that moment, the door opened quietly. Rosa Mendoza, 52 years old, entered with her cleaning cart. Having worked in the building for 15 years, she was always invisible to men like Eduardo. Her navy blue uniform was pristine, despite starting her shift at 5 AM.
“Excuse me, sir,” Rosa murmured, head bowed. “I didn’t know you had a meeting. I’ll come back later.” “No, no.” Eduardo stopped her with a cruel laugh. “Stay. This is going to be fun. Everyone look! Here’s Rosa, our dear cleaning lady. Rosa, tell these experts what level of education you have.” Rosa felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Sir, I only completed primary school.”
Eduardo clapped sarcastically. “And here we have five doctors and professors who probably can’t even do what Rosa does every day—clean my shoes properly.” The translators looked down, embarrassed not only for themselves but for witnessing how Eduardo treated Rosa.
Suddenly, Eduardo had what he found to be a hilarious idea. “Rosa, come closer. I want you to see this.” Rosa walked slowly over, gripping her cart’s handle tightly. He placed the papers in front of her eyes. “These five geniuses can’t translate it. Can you?” It was a rhetorical question, a cruel joke designed to humiliate both Rosa and the professional translators.
Rosa looked at the papers, and something strange flickered in her eyes. For a moment, unnoticed by all except Professor Chen, Rosa seemed to recognize something in the text. “I, I can’t read those things, sir,” she replied softly. “Of course not.” Eduardo burst into laughter, mocking the fact that a cleaning woman who barely finished primary school could possibly do what these so-called experts could not.
”Do you see the irony?” he directed at the translators. “You’ve charged fortunes for years to translate documents, and now you can’t do something a bathroom-cleaning woman could hardly manage.” Rosa gritted her teeth.
For 15 years, she had endured such comments, but something about Eduardo’s derisive attitude toward her work cut deeper than usual. But enough games. Eduardo returned to his desk. “Dr. Martínez, you’re first. Show me why you charge $200 an hour.” Dr. Martínez approached the document with trembling hands.
For 20 minutes, he struggled to decipher the characters, but it was evident he was fighting a losing battle. The text seemed to shift between different writing systems, making it impossible to follow any known logical pattern. “This appears to be a mix of several ancient languages, but the structure—