My name is Talia Bennett, and the first thing most people notice about me has never been my accomplishments.
It’s my age.
I was only nineteen when I bought the car I had dreamed about for years—a metallic graphite European coupe worth more money than most people believed someone like me should even be standing next to, much less driving. The second thing they noticed was the color of my skin. In the neighborhood where I lived, that combination stirred different reactions depending on who was looking. Some people were impressed. Some genuinely celebrated my success. And at least one person looked at that car with nothing but resentment.
The coupe belonged to me.
Every signature on the paperwork was mine.
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