It was a silly little act of hope, the kind of thing you do when life feels so tight around your neck that you need to imagine at least one window opening somewhere. That night, I checked the drawing without expecting much.
When all six numbers matched, I thought I had read it wrong. Then I turned on the television. Then I checked the official website. Then I sat down on the floor of my apartment, the overdue electric bill still lying on the table, and started shaking.
The following day, I did not go to the accounting firm where I had been working sixty-hour weeks while my boss took credit for my ideas. Instead, I went to meet an attorney, Diane Whitaker, who specialized in trusts. She walked me through how to claim the prize without turning my name into public entertainment. Then she said something that stayed inside me:
“Money doesn’t change people, Madison. It just removes the mask.”
I already recognized a few masks. My brother Brandon had once asked me for 35,000 dollars to “save his business,” and later I caught sight of him gambling online. My sister Natalie had owed me money ever since her wedding, but she still kept purchasing designer handbags.
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