I reminded him of his first international business agreement.
The one he still mentioned proudly in interviews. The one he described as the turning point of his career. The one he used whenever he wanted people to believe his success had been built entirely by his own brilliance.
I told the table the truth.
That agreement had not been closed by his confidence alone. It had been negotiated through my translation work, my late-night messages, my careful communication with foreign partners while he slept.
I remembered the nights clearly.
Me sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop open, correcting his wording, softening his mistakes, explaining cultural details he had overlooked. Him waking in the morning to polished replies and then walking into meetings as if the entire bridge had been built by his hands.
His face changed.
The guests stopped smiling.
Not because I was being cruel.
Because I was being specific.