At 9:00 a.m., my attorney, Richard Hail, called from New York. He cleared his throat and told me that my great-aunt Margaret Whitaker had passed away two weeks earlier. Probate had moved faster than anyone expected. She had left me one hundred million dollars.<\/p>\n
The number hovered in the air like a bird that was either about to land or vanish. I pressed my palm to the banister I had stripped and varnished with my own hands. Aunt Margaret was the kind of New Yorker who knew the names of doormen and the hours of every museum. When I was twelve, she walked me through Central Park and made me promise to learn how money works, so money would not get to tell me who I was. Standing in my living room, I whispered, \u201cThank you,\u201d though no one could hear.<\/p>\n
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