Chapter 4

Matthew' s shock quickly turned to rage. He wasn't going to be beaten that easily.

"Fine!" he shouted, his face turning a blotchy red. "She bought the weekend. But we're moving on to the next item! Lot number two!"

He strode onto the stage and stood beside Molly, grabbing her arm roughly.

"One of her healthy kidneys!" he announced, his voice booming. "Perfectly viable. I know for a fact the Harrison family in Houston would pay a fortune for this. Their daughter needs a transplant. This is a rare opportunity, folks!"

The crowd gasped. This was no longer just humiliation; it was dismemberment for profit. The air turned colder, the greed in the room more predatory.

My mother cried out, "You can't do this! She's my daughter!"

A few of Matthew's friends, large men who worked on his ranch, moved toward my mother. "Shut her up," one of them growled, reaching for her.

"Stop!" Matthew commanded. He wasn't being decent. He was being cautious. "I told you, this is Cullen property. We don't assault people on the floor. It's bad for business."

He shot a nervous glance toward the VIP balconies. He feared the venue's owner, the unknown new head of the Cullen family. He feared me.

He turned back to my mother. "You want to bid again? What else do you have?"

My mother' s hand went to her neck. She pulled out a small, worn leather pouch that hung from a cord.

Wendy Fuller, seeing her chance, lunged forward and snatched it from my mother' s hand. "What's this? More garbage?"

She opened the pouch and sneered. "It's dirt! You're going to bid with dirt?" She raised the pouch, intending to pour the contents into my mother' s face, to humiliate her completely.

"Wait!" The appraiser scrambled forward, his eyes wide with alarm. He gently took the pouch from Wendy' s hand.

He carefully poured a tiny amount of the contents onto a white cloth. He examined it with a jeweler's loupe.

"My God," he whispered. He looked at the auctioneer, then at the stunned crowd. "This is soil from the original Cullen homestead. The founding plot. To the family, this is a sacred relic. It's considered... priceless. It can back any single transaction, no matter the cost."

My mother stood tall. "Winner-take-all," she said again, her voice firm.

The appraiser nodded to the auctioneer. "The bid is valid. The second lot is sold to Maria Johns."

I watched from the balcony, a single tear of fury tracing a path down my cheek.

I recognized the pouch. I had made it for her as a child, filling it with soil from the land behind our old house, a place she told me was sacred.

She had kept it all these years. And now she was forced to use it.