Chapter 97

• When I think about the day my life changed, I can still smell the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne.
• Back then, I had nothing. Not in the dramatic, Instagram caption way people talk about “starting from nothing.” I mean really nothing, two unpaid rent notices crumpled on my kitchen table, my mother hooked to an IV drip in a hospital that was already hinting at early discharge unless I could settle her bills, and a half-empty jar of peanut butter I’d been stretching for meals.
• I’d sent out fifty job applications in two weeks. Forty-eight had gone unanswered. One came back with a polite rejection. The last Blackwood Enterprises was a long shot, but I’d taken it anyway. When the rejection email came less than twenty-four hours later, I almost deleted it without reading. “While we appreciate your interest… not qualified… wish you the best.”