I could see Maxwell’s smug demeanor falter, if only for a split second, as I leaned forward slightly, maintaining eye contact. Confidence welled up inside me as I continued, choosing my words with precision, the way one might select a tool for surgery.
“You see, Mr. Blackwood, there’s something rather liberating about knowing where you come from and owning it. In fact, I find a certain charm in rising from what others might dismiss as ‘street garbage’. It means I’ve built myself from the ground up, no silver spoon, no safety net, just an iron will.”
There was a murmur, a ripple of whispered astonishment from the other guests. Maxwell’s smile was gone now, replaced by a look of disbelief, as if I were an equation he couldn’t solve. Alexander squeezed my hand again, this time in support, his pride evident.
