“You’re asking people to believe this is coincidence.”
I kept my gaze level.
“I’m asking people to focus on facts,” I said. “Dreamland’s permits, planning, financing, and scope have existed independently of any personal history. The opposition is political and cultural—not personal.”
“So you never knew Ms. Muniz would be involved?” he asked. “Not at the time your company began land negotiations?”
I didn’t blink.
“I’m not here to discuss my private life,” I said, voice still measured. “I’m here to discuss Dreamland.”
“And yet,” he said softly, “your private life is what the public is discussing.”
The interview continued like that—each question sharper, each angle tighter. He asked about sealed court proceedings. About the optics. About coercion. About power. He never accused me outright.
He didn’t have to.
Because he was letting the audience do it for him.
By the time the red light finally shut off, my shirt felt like it was sticking to my back.
I stood immediately, jaw rigid, the taste of defeat bitter in my mouth.
In the dressing room, André was already waiting—phone in hand, his expression pulled tight with contained urgency.
“Well?” I asked, no pleasantries.
André hesitated just long enough to be honest.
“Terrible,” he said. “Social media is tearing you apart. They’re calling it staged, manipulative. Your answers sounded… rehearsed. Like you were hiding something.”
I exhaled through my nose, anger sitting hot behind my ribs.
“Of course they are.”
“It’s not just social media,” he added. “The board is calling. Investors are calling. A few of them are already panicking.”
I ran a hand down my face, the exhaustion finally breaking through the mask.
“You think I don’t know?” I snapped, keeping my voice low because staff was still nearby. “I’ve been trying to fix this for weeks.”
“And it isn’t working,” André said, blunt.
I stared at him.
He didn’t look like a lawyer in that moment.
He looked like a man watching a wall crack in real time.
“Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending we can fix it with press releases,” he said carefully. “We need a move that changes the entire picture.”
I already knew what he meant.
My stomach turned.
“Not yet,” I said, stubborn. “There’s still another way.”
André’s gaze held mine—pity and frustration tangled together—but he didn’t push. Not then.
