Another reporter leaned in, voice sharp as a blade. “Your late mother named the company Amoura, to represent integrity and self-respect. But after watching that video, do you really think you’ve honored her legacy? Don’t you worry she’s turning in her grave right now?”
And then came the cruelest blow, thrown in with a sneer. “How do you even look your daughter in the eye after this? Or the board of directors, for that matter? Honestly, if I were you, I’d have thrown myself into traffic already. You’re not fit to be a husband—let alone a father.”
Shame washed over me in crushing waves. I clutched at my clothes, gasping for air, unable to breathe from the humiliation.
But they had no intention of stopping. Someone even started a livestream, shoving the mic in my face.
“Mr. Frazier, you have no comment? Does it mean you agree with the public—that you're just a disgrace?”
Camera after camera fought to capture my pain and humiliation. Just as I was about to break, I heard two furious voices cutting through the chaos.
“Get the hell away from him! Who the hell gave you the right to film this, you damn vultures?!”