Oh my god. What is that smell? Security. Who let this filthy creature into my gala? Ma'am, I was invited.
My name is Shut your mouth. Did I say you could speak to me? Look at you. Black as coal, standing in my ballroom like a stain on white marble. I'm a guest tonight, Mrs. Whitfield. your husband personally.
Don't you ever say my husband's name with those dirty lips. He would never invite something like you. You people crawl in like roaches. No matter how many times we try, you keep coming back. Ma'am, if you just allow me to allow you allow you.
I don't allow uninvited guests at my table. You smell like the gutter you crawled out of. Here, let me wash you off a little. Ma'am, you just poured an entire glass of wine on me. Good.
It's the most expensive thing that will ever touch your worthless skin. Now look at you. Red wine dripping down that cheap suit. You finally match what you are. Dirty.
Disgusting. Now get out before I have you dragged out like the garbage you are. Ma'am, I'd be very careful right now because what you just did in front of this entire room, you're going to remember this moment for the rest of your life. Let me take you back to the beginning because to truly understand the weight of that moment, you need to know who this man really was. Terrence Cole woke up at 5:15 that morning in his Tribeca penthouse.
Not the kind of penthouse you see in rap videos. No gold furniture, no champagne fountain, no closet full of designer logos. His place was quiet, simple bookshelves lined every wall. A worn leather chair sat by the window where he read every morning before the sun came up. On the kitchen counter sat a framed photograph of a woman in a cleaning uniform, his mother, Dorothy Cole.
She spent 31 years scrubbing floors and wiping desks in downtown Chicago office buildings. She worked the night shift so Terrence could sleep in a warm bed. She ate last so he could eat first. And every single morning before school, she looked him in the eye and said the same thing. The world will try to make you small, Terrence.
Don't you let it. He never forgot those words. Not when he earned a full scholarship to MIT. Not when he graduated top of his class at Wharton. Not when he built Pinnacle Horizon Industries from a one room office into a Fortune 500 clean energy and infrastructure empire worth more than most countries GDP.