At ten, I lost my eldest brother to a long prison sentence.
At thirteen, I lost another brother, my best friend, to another long prison sentence.

He got six years. Six years to a 13-year-old kid is forever. Then again, that much time without your brother should feel like forever to anyone.

Attending his last hearing changed my life—but I didn’t realize it then.

After my brother was sentenced I gave him a hug, not knowing it’d be the last time in a long time that I would be able to touch him without being searched. As he was led away, I walked over to his attorney. With tears in my eyes, I reached out my hand and said, Thank you for representing my brother. The attorney didn’t break stride: he gave me a weak handshake—like he didn’t even grip my hand or look me in the eyes—and kept moving.

As if this was just another day, and another one biting the dust.

My sadness turned to anger. I realized that to a man like that, my brothers and I were sum that brought nothing of value to the world.

Two days later I was able to visit my brother in prison. In the lobby before we went through security, tears ran uncontrollably down my face. I wasn’t crying per se—I wasn’t even showing any facial expression. I was staying tough, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Sitting there, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to play video games with my brother, go on long drive with him at the wheel, elbow out and hip hop blasting, or just talk—just the two of us, no guards, no guys, no someone-else’s-motherbrothergirl trying not to cry next to me in the visitation room. We used to talk about life and about how we had to hustle harder than everyone else just to get by. Those talks are different with an audience. An audience that doesn’t give a shit about you.

Two years later, I was 15 and homeless.

But between that lousy attorney and my brother being locked up, I had never felt more fierce and determined to prove people wrong. It fueled me to graduate high school. Go to college. Go to law school. Show that attorney—and people like him—that I’m not only capable of doing great things despite where we come from, I’m doing them on a much higher level than they could imagine.

I am now the only merger and acquisition attorney of color in the entire metropolitan area, and I am damn good at helping businesses grow.

Here’s the thing: I could have done it without the anger. And my brother could have done it, too.