The meeting was held in the top-floor boardroom.
Celeste entered before him.
She wore a black suit Mara had helped her buy, though Celeste insisted on paying for it herself. Her notebook was in her left hand. The glass table reflected her face, serious and calm.
Julian stood near the window.
“You do not have to prove anything today,” he said.
Celeste looked at him. “That is easy to say when people already believe you belong in the room.”
He accepted the correction without defending himself.
A moment later, the doors opened.
Henri Beaumont greeted Julian with polished warmth. He greeted Mara with a smaller smile. Then his eyes reached Celeste.
He paused.
There it was. That quick assessment. The measuring of her skin, her gender, her stillness, her place in the room.
“And who is this?” Beaumont asked.
“Our language and contract advisor,” Julian said.
Beaumont’s mouth curved.
“Your advisor?”
Celeste said nothing.
He looked at her hands, then at the folder before her.
“I admire American creativity,” Beaumont said. “Yesterday the cleaning staff. Today the legal team. Very efficient.”
One of his attorneys looked down to hide a smile.
Mara’s fingers tightened around her pen.
Julian’s expression hardened. “Ms. Ward is here because she understands the documents.”
Beaumont laughed.
This time he did not bother to disguise it.
“Understands?” he said. “My friend, this agreement has been reviewed by attorneys in Paris, London, and New York. But perhaps your janitor has discovered a secret.”
Celeste met his eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “Several.”
The room went silent.
Beaumont’s smile thinned. He reached into his leather folder and removed a fresh document.
“Then let us enjoy the performance.”
He slid the pages across the glass table. They stopped in front of Celeste.
“Read it,” Beaumont said. “Translate it. If you can. No preparation. No assistant. No whispered help from your employers.”
Julian started to speak, but Celeste raised one hand.
Not high.
Just enough.
She picked up the document.
The French was dense, elegant, and dangerous. Beaumont had chosen it carefully. It was not ordinary business language. It was full of legal architecture, cross-references, exceptions nested inside exceptions.
Celeste read the first page in silence.
Beaumont leaned back, already entertained.
Then Celeste began translating.
Her English was precise. Not theatrical. Not rushed. She moved sentence by sentence, preserving the legal meaning rather than the decorative language. By the second paragraph, Beaumont’s attorney stopped smiling. By the third, Mara allowed herself one small breath of satisfaction.
Celeste turned the page.
“This provision appears to concern post-closing cooperation,” she said. “But that is not its real function.”
Beaumont’s eyes narrowed.
“It allows your side to delay escrow release if any regulatory inquiry is raised, even one triggered by information your own team controls. That means you could manufacture uncertainty, freeze the funds, and pressure Sterling Bridge’s client into accepting revised terms.”
The room was very still.
Celeste continued.
“Page three expands that mechanism. Page four attempts to make the English summary controlling only for notice purposes, not interpretation. Page five introduces a phrase that seems routine but would allow you to claim that prior environmental disclosures were informational rather than binding.”
She placed the document flat on the table.
“Page six is the trap.”
No one moved.
Beaumont’s voice lost its softness. “Careful.”
Celeste looked at him with the calm of someone who had spent years being warned by men with less reason.
“No,” she said. “You be careful.”
Mara’s eyes widened.
Julian did not interrupt.
Celeste tapped the final paragraph.
“This clause would let Beaumont Holdings deny responsibility for contamination claims connected to three properties acquired before the merger, while still representing publicly that those properties were cleared during diligence. That is not clever drafting. It is concealed risk.”
Beaumont’s attorney cleared his throat. “That is an aggressive interpretation.”
“It is an accurate one.”
“You are not licensed counsel.”
“No,” Celeste said. “I am the person who read what you hoped no one would read.”
Beaumont’s face flushed.
“You expect me to negotiate with cleaning staff?”
Celeste smiled for the first time.
“No, Mr. Beaumont. I expect you to negotiate with the truth. I am simply the one who brought it into the room.”
Julian opened the folder before him and removed another set of papers.
“Mr. Beaumont,” he said, “based on Ms. Ward’s review, we have prepared revised terms. We are removing the delayed liability language, requiring full disclosure certification, increasing escrow protection, and adding a fraud carve-out.”
Beaumont stared at him.