Looking at her face, the memory hit me like a freight train. My own death. The poison eating through my organs, a fire that started in my gut and spread until every nerve was screaming. That sensation still clung to my body like a scar that hadn't fully healed.
And her expression. That mask of pure, unfiltered hatred. It was carved into my soul.
"Terry Dickerson, are you alright?"
Kate's voice pulled me back.
I shook my head. Said nothing.
Nelson stood up then, wearing that humble look of his as he turned to me.
"Mr. Dickerson, do you have any thoughts on my program? If there's an issue, please don't hesitate to point it out. I'm more than happy to take feedback."
His tone was earnest. His posture, deferential.
Every executive at the table turned to look at me, expectation written across their faces.
I stared at his young face and remembered. He'd worn the exact same expression in my last life. All humility and open hands. Then he'd gone straight to Kate to complain. Told her I'd embarrassed him. That I'd dressed down a graduate from an Ivy League program like he was some intern.
"I don't have any concerns."
I turned and walked out of the conference room.