Stepan Arkadyevich slammed the laptop shut with force. The sound came out sharp, like a loud dry click, echoing through the huge, dimly lit office. Red digits glowed on the clock: 21:40. Friday.
Normal people at this hour sit in restaurants, discuss weekend plans, or head out of the city. Stepan Arkadyevich was sitting on the thirtieth floor of a business center tower, trying not to lose his temper.
— Are you mocking me, Ilya? — he pressed the speakerphone button, leaning back in the leather chair. — You sent me one hundred and forty pages of technical documentation. In a mix of English and some specific Cantonese dialect.
— Stepan Arkadyevich, please understand, the Chinese partners made changes at the last moment — came the apologetic voice of the head of the legal department from the speaker. — Our in-house translator fell seriously ill back on Tuesday.
Agencies don’t take on such narrow technical texts over the weekend.
— I’m not interested in your agencies. On Monday morning we must sign the agreement for supplying smart systems for the new residential district. If we miss the deadline, the Koreans will take the tender.
— I ran it through a machine translator…
— And got a meaningless pile of words! — Stepan snapped. — “Integration of the green dragon into the valve cooling system”? Is that a children’s fairy tale? Find a specialist. Dig one up if you have to.
He ended the call and tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. A multi-million contract was hanging by a thread because of one employee’s illness.
The office door creaked quietly. Stepan didn’t even turn his head — he knew it was the cleaning staff.
Svetlana entered the room. A thin, tired woman in a dark blue uniform, pushing a cart that smelled strongly of cheap lemon glass cleaner. She worked evenings in the office, cleaning meeting rooms and executive offices.
She moved silently, like a shadow. Behind her, trying to step just as quietly, a teenage boy entered.
His name was Matvey. Stepan had seen him a few times in the corridors. The boy usually sat on a pouf near the water cooler, waiting for his mother to finish her shift. He wore a worn-out oversized hoodie and scuffed sneakers that squeaked traitorously on the expensive parquet floor.
— Excuse me, Stepan Arkadyevich — Svetlana said softly, taking empty coffee cups from the table. — I’ll just take the trash and wipe the dust. We won’t disturb you.
The businessman waved vaguely, reopening the laptop. The screen lit up his tired, drawn face. Lines of Chinese characters and complex English paragraphs merged into one gray mass.
Matvey, who usually stayed by the door, suddenly stepped forward. Then another step. He stopped half a meter from the massive desk and slightly stretched his neck, peering at the glowing monitor.
Stepan noticed the movement. The irritation that had been building all evening needed an outlet.
— What do you want? — he asked dryly, giving the boy a heavy look. — Lose something?
Svetlana immediately turned, nearly dropping a cup.
— Motya, step away from the desk! I’m so sorry, he just got curious… Go to the corridor, I’ll be right there.
But Matvey didn’t move. He adjusted the cheap plastic-framed glasses sliding down his nose and looked straight at the company owner.
— You’re reading the sixth paragraph incorrectly — the boy’s voice was still breaking, but he spoke surprisingly calmly. — That’s a network protocol specification. The translator gave you nonsense about a “dragon.” It’s actually the name of their proprietary encryption algorithm. Something like Long-something.
Silence fell. Dense, ringing silence. Only the hum of the ventilation could be heard.
Stepan slowly leaned back. A sarcastic smile touched his lips.
— Oh really? — he drawled. — I’ve been looking for a technical consultant among schoolkids all my life.
— Stepan Arkadyevich, please don’t be angry, we’ll leave — Svetlana hurried, but Matvey pulled his sleeve free.
— Leave him, Sveta. Let him speak — Stepan said, clasping his hands together. — So, you understand algorithms? And Chinese too? Or did you just recognize some familiar words?
— I can fluently read technical English. And I know Chinese at an advanced reading level. HSK level four, if that means anything to you — Matvey said calmly.
Stepan laughed loudly and sharply.
— Level four? Amazing. Listen, kid — his tone turned cold and hard. — I have MGIMO graduates on my staff. They earn huge salaries, and even they struggle with these contracts. And you’re telling me fairy tales while your mother is cleaning floors here. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous to you?
Svetlana flushed deeply. Hurt and embarrassment showed on her face.
— I’m sorry… — she whispered. — Matvey, go outside.
But the boy didn’t move.
— I’m not telling fairy tales — Matvey said firmly. — If you sign this contract as it is, your company will go bankrupt within a year.
The laughter stopped instantly.
— Say that again — Stepan said quietly.
— Mom, don’t! — Svetlana cried in panic.
— Let him talk — Stepan growled, not taking his eyes off the boy. — Well? Explain. Where do you see bankruptcy?
Matvey stepped closer to the desk and pointed at the lower part of the monitor.
— Open Appendix number three. Clause 4.2.
Stepan scrolled down.
— Right here — the boy squinted. — Your machine translator rendered this as “standard equipment maintenance.” But it says something else. The supplier gives you the hardware at cost. Very cheap. But the real conditions are in the software license.
Matvey took a breath.
— You don’t own the software. Only the hardware. And they’ve written in a subscription fee. For every sensor connected to the system, for every valve.
Plus mandatory paid updates every six months. If you refuse to pay, they can remotely turn your smart systems into useless junk. You’ll be paying them a percentage of utility income for life.
Silence.
Stepan slowly shifted his gaze from the boy’s face to the monitor. English words: “subscription-based licensing,” “remote shutdown access.” The puzzle came together.
The trap was perfect.
A cold chill ran down his spine.
— Can you translate the entire section? — he asked seriously.
Matvey nodded.
— I can.
— Sit down — Stepan said, standing up.
Svetlana remained frozen by the door.
The boy sat in the executive chair.
For forty minutes, only the sound of typing could be heard.
When he finished, Stepan handed him a glass of water.
— Thank you.
He turned to Svetlana.
— Starting Monday, you’re not cleaning anymore. I’m transferring you to the documentation department. Triple salary.
To Matvey:
— Starting tomorrow, you’ll study. I’ll pay for everything.
— We don’t take charity — the boy said.
— It’s not charity. It’s payment. You saved the company.
Four years later, Matvey was sitting at the negotiation table as a junior partner.
— You handled them well — said Stepan.
— I just read the fine print — Matvey smiled.
— You taught me that — he added.
Svetlana watched them from behind the glass wall. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t a cleaner. She was a mother, proud of her son.
