Naomi shook her head. He's been their man from the start. We just need to prove it. A knock at the door made them both turn. A hotel staff member entered with a silver breakfast tray, complete with fresh coffee and pastries.
As she set it down, Naomi noticed her hands trembling slightly. Pardon, Doctor. Ellison, the young woman said in careful English. But security asked me to inform you there are now over 50 reporters in the lobby. They're requesting statements.
Thank you. Naomi replied with a warm smile. And thank you for bringing breakfast, despite the crowd. After the staff member left, Kiana stood up, stretching muscles stiff from hours of computer work. "What's our next move?"
Naomi walked back to the window. The morning sun had risen fully now, glinting off the steel and glass towers of Beijing's financial district. Somewhere in one of those buildings, Ming was probably scrambling to contain the damage, never suspecting they'd discovered the real plot hidden behind his racist bluster. "They called me servant while trying to steal my crown," Naomi said, her reflection in the window overlaying the city like a ghost. "Now, we take theirs."
She turned to Kiana. Start with David's emails from the past month. Every contact, every meeting, every document he's touched. If he helped them set this up, he left tracks somewhere. Kiana was already typing.
And Ming? He wanted to play with racism and corporate theft? Naomi's smile was sharp as a blade's edge. Let's show him what happens when you try both against the wrong person. The morning news cycle hit like a tsunami.
Naomi watched from her hotel room as talking heads dissected her every move, her every word from the fateful dinner. On CNN, a commentator with perfectly coiffed hair shook his head solemnly. Sources close to the negotiations suggest Dr. Ellison may have misinterpreted cultural differences, he said. This emotional response could cost shareholders billions. Naomi muted the TV, her finger pressing the button with controlled force.
Her phone buzzed constantly with notifications. Social media was having a field day. The messages ranged from concerned to cruel, with an ugly undercurrent of racism threading through many of them. They're calling you unstable on WeChat, Kiana reported, scrolling through her tablet. And Twitter?
Well, you don't want to know what's trending. Let me guess. #angryblackwoman? Naomi's voice was dry as dust. Among others.
Kiana's face darkened. The trolls are out in force. I've had to shut down comments on all our corporate social media. Naomi stood, walking to her closet. She pulled out a simple black sweater and jeans, clothes that would help her blend in rather than stand out.
"I need some air." "You can't go out there," Kiana protested. The media is still camped downstairs, and security says "I didn't survive two decades in corporate America without learning how to move unseen." Naomi pulled her hair back into a tight bun, added large sunglasses and a surgical mask, common enough in Beijing that it wouldn't draw attention. Keep monitoring the situation.
I'll be back in 2 hours. The service elevator deposited her in the hotel's kitchen area. A few workers glanced her way, but in her plain clothes, she was just another foreigner trying to avoid attention. She slipped out through the loading dock and into the bustling streets of Beijing's business district. All around her, life continued as normal.
Street vendors hawked their wares, office workers hurried between skyscrapers, tourists snapped photos of the modern architecture. But in cafes and on street corners, she caught fragments of conversation. Her Mandarin picked up whispers that made her jaw clench. That American woman. Lost face over nothing.
These foreigners, so sensitive. In a high-end coffee shop, two young executives in sharp suits didn't bother to lower their voices as she passed their table. "Who does she think she is?" one said in Mandarin. "These Americans, especially the black ones, they don't understand how to do business here." His companion laughed.
"Ming Zhao was right. Too emotional. No control." Naomi ordered her coffee in perfect Mandarin, watching their faces pale as they realized she'd understood every word. She took her drink to a corner table, opening her phone to find Ming's face plastered across Chinese business news sites.
His official statement was a masterpiece of subtle condescension. While we respect Dr. Ellison's passion, her emotional reaction to standard business negotiations raises concerns about her ability to operate in international markets. We remain open to dialogue once cooler heads prevail. The translation didn't capture all the nuances, the way his choice of words in Mandarin painted her as hysterical, unstable, out of her depth. The comments below the articles were worse, a cesspool of racist and sexist vitriol barely disguised as business criticism.
Her phone buzzed with a message from the board. They were deeply concerned about the situation and requested an emergency meeting. Another buzz, share prices dropping. Another, a major investor threatening to pull out. Naomi walked back to the hotel through darkening streets, watching her own face flash on digital billboards between advertisements.
The story had legs now, spinning beyond her control. In the space of 24 hours, she'd gone from respected CEO to cautionary tale. The hotel lobby was mercifully clear of reporters when she returned, though she could see them still camped outside the main entrance. She took the service elevator again, her mind already mapping out strategies for the board meeting. The corridor to her suite was empty and quiet.
Too quiet. Her security training kicked in before her conscious mind registered what was wrong. She slowed her steps, scanning for any sign of disturbance. There, a shadow under her door that shouldn't be there. A piece of paper slid through while she was out.
Naomi approached cautiously, her hand sliding into her purse where a small but powerful stun gun lay hidden. The note was printed on expensive paper, the kind used for business cards. The message was in English, each word carefully chosen. "You dishonor yourself by staying. Leave China by tomorrow night or bleed here.
Some lessons must be taught harshly." Naomi picked up the note with a tissue, preserving any possible fingerprints. Inside her suite, she checked every room, every closet, every possible hiding place. Nothing was disturbed, but the message was clear. They could reach her whenever they wanted.
She double-checked the door's bolt, then moved a chair under the handle for good measure. From her purse, she withdrew the stun gun, a gift from her head of security who'd insisted she never travel without it. Its weight was reassuring in her hand as she checked the charge indicator. Full power. "Try me," she muttered, setting the weapon on her bedside table within easy reach.
I've faced worse than schoolyard bullies with Daddy's money." The Beijing sunrise painted the hotel room in shades of gray and amber. Naomi sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of printed documents and three laptops. Her jacket was draped over a chair, her sleeves rolled up, ready for battle. Kiana worked at the desk, red flagging suspicious entries in spreadsheets.
Dark circles under her eyes betrayed a sleepless night, but her fingers flew over the keyboard with precision. Liang Chen, their translator and tech consultant, sat on the couch with his own laptop, his normally neat hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration. "Another shell company," Kiana announced, marking a cell in red. "This one registered in the Cayman Islands last year. Huge cash transfers, no clear business purpose."
Naomi nodded, scanning a document recovered from Zhao Industries' backup servers. "Pattern's the same. They create these shells just before major international deals." She touched her temple, fighting a headache. "Liang, what's this notation here?"
Liang leaned forward, squinting at the Chinese characters in tiny font. "It's creative accounting. They're marking bribes as consulting fees to local officials." He pulled at his collar, clearly uncomfortable. "These amounts are significant.