Lillian heard him and laid on the car horn, holding it down.
The powerful blast from the supercar silenced the crowd for a moment. Everyone turned to look.
They had seen cars like Lillian’s convertible on TV, and now they all started moving toward it.
A tough-looking, middle-aged woman at the head of the group pointed at Emma in the passenger seat. “Are you the big boss?”
Seeing their aggressive approach, Emma hesitated, unsure whether to claim the title and draw their fire or to deny it.
Fortunately, Lillian spoke up first, raising a hand. “That’s me. I’m the owner of this factory. Whatever your problem is, you talk to me. I’m the only one who can help you.”
At that, a gaunt, unshaven man with a sun-beaten face walked toward the driver's side.
“You’re the boss? So that means you’re our Candy’s boss, right? Good, you can be the judge here.
“That girl, Candy, she was born a Bennett, and she’ll die a Bennett. She belongs to our family.
“Years ago, the whole family worked the fields to send her to school. And now? She thinks she’s better than us and is trying to abandon her own family!
“We worked our fingers to the bone to give her a future, and she never once thought about paying us back. What kind of person does that?”
Lillian suddenly recalled that Celia Bennett’s resume did list a former name: Candy Bennett.
Now, seeing these parents, things were becoming clearer.
During her two years in prison, she had met several female inmates with similar stories.
They came from poor, remote villages, excelled in their studies, and landed good jobs after graduation.

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