Four answers, arranged the way you would actually reach for them.
One line for who you are. Not a job title — a job title tells someone which box you sit in, which they can already see. This is the sentence that says what you are the person for.
Three rooms, each with a strength and one specific instance of it. Three, because the person in front of you changes. Your manager already knows the delivery story and does not need it again. The director two grades up has never heard it and has thirty seconds. Same person, same career, different room.
The proof underneath — the number, the market, the timeline you point at when someone asks whether any of that is true. This is the part most people skip, and it is the part that decides whether the rest survives a follow-up question.
Communications people call this a message house: a roof, rooms under it, a foundation. The name matters less than the shape. What it buys you is that you stop composing under pressure. You have already decided what is true about your work, so the only decision left in the moment is which part of it this person needs.