Crystal leaned forward, palms out. “Look… we were grieving. People say things they don’t mean.”
“You filmed me being evicted,” I said softly. “And posted it.”
Crystal’s mouth snapped shut.
“You called me a gold digger to thousands,” I continued. “You tried to get me fired. Howard tried to take my name.”
Howard bristled, reaching for authority like a cane. “Terrence would’ve wanted you to help his family.”
I leaned back. “The family who threw me out twenty-four hours after his funeral?”
Beverly’s eyes flashed. “You’re being vindictive.”
“No,” I said. “I’m being accurate.”
I let them sit in it.
Then I leaned forward, hands folded.
“I lived in a studio for six months,” I said. “I rode the bus. I ate dollar store food. I worked twelve-hour shifts until my feet went numb. Every one of you had my number.”
I looked at Andre last.
“Did anyone call?” I asked. “Did anyone ask if I was okay?”
No one answered.
Andre’s eyes dropped.
“I gave you money,” he whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “Two hundred dollars. Once. Out of pity.”
His throat worked like he was swallowing shame.
I stood. “I’m not investing ten million in your company,” I said, and watched hope die in their faces like a candle snuffed.