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It was like that reporter had said. The luck of the draw. Her letter had been chosen from all the millions written.

Dumb luck.

She’d wanted a million dollars for her mother’s transplant and now she had an opportunity to earn that amount in only four weeks’ time.

A million dollars.

A million dollars to decide how to divvy up two-hundred-million dollars.

Could she do it? To the benefactor’s satisfaction?

A thought flitted through Amanda’s mind, skidded to a stop, and lodged itself on a fulcrum balanced between inspiration and effrontery.

“Mr. Franklin?” she said.


“If I want, may I keep all two-hundred-million dollars?”

He paused, and then blew out a breath. Shaking his head, he pursed his lips like a disappointed father. “Yes, if you can make a case that you are worthy enough, you may ask to keep the entire fortune. But remember–you have only four weeks to make your decision.”

Luck of the Draw

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