Lucky Seed

Prologue

Ask anyone who has ever received a dying wish, but there are few places more dangerous than a chair within earshot of a deathbed.

Yet unafraid, the woman sat next to the sleeping old man, listening to the uncertain beep of the machine hooked up to his

heart. She had sat there for days, waiting to see if he would wake, waiting to hear what he would say. The old man was as

still as the vacuum of space, without even the flutter of an eyelash or the tremor of a lip. He was as unmovable as he was

in life, even as he approached eternity.

At some point during the quiet of night, the woman began to weep. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dotting the white linen on

the bed like the inverse of a constellation, surprising her upon sight. She could not remember the last time she cried. And

why was she crying now, at this unremarkable moment, when she could have cried when he was first diagnosed years ago, or when

he began to forget who she was, or when he fell into this long coma? Why now? Frustrated at herself, she buried her face in

her hands, as if trying to push the silly, useless tears back into her eyes.

Don’t cry.

With a gasp she looked up and stared directly into the old man’s eyes, the milky-brown eyes she hadn’t seen in months. You are awake!

Why are you crying? he slurred, his words rusty from disuse.

She wiped her eyes quickly, her heart leaping at his recognition of her. I am not crying. I am just happy to see you.

How long have I been asleep?

She leaned forward to grasp his cold hands, bringing them carefully to her cheek, hoping to warm them. Don’t worry about that. Just stay with me a while.

With a jerk he pulled back, bringing her closer to him, his eyes widening with alarm as though in pain. There isn’t time. I need to go soon, he whispered hoarsely.

Stay calm, she urged, trying to rise. I will go fetch your nurse.

He shook his head, tightening his grip around her hands with surprising strength, the last that he had. Sit still and listen!

Obediently, she relented and stilled. I am listening.

The old man was breathing through his final throes, his chest heaving in undulating waves. What you and I planned, is it in motion?

The woman was stunned, but erased it from her face. Yes, she quickly lied, realizing that the shocking conversation they’d had all those years ago was not the fantasy of an old

man’s fading mind.

He had meant it, every word. And now, on his deathbed, he was invoking it of her.

Yes, she repeated, leaning forward in her chair. It will be in motion. This time it was not a lie, but a promise.

Her words were like a salve to his worldly pains. With a satisfied nod, he leaned back, as though generations had finally

been lifted from his shoulders. Then I am ready to face our ancestors, her father whispered, closing his eyes.

She looked away until his hands fell from hers and the machine flatlined. She sat there for many minutes more, thinking about his last words. This plan of theirs was audacious and blindsiding; it would surely send shock waves through this family.

But she understood the gravity of his situation. For him, it stretched beyond his life and into eternity. His belief system

was not lost on her. She knew too well that she herself would face those same ancestors someday.

But there was another incentive that was clear as moonlight to the woman.

It was the money. All that money! Money that went back generations into dynastic abundance, money that her father had compounded

even further with his life’s work, money that could slip through her fingers if she did not act with merciless haste.

And as his body cooled, her resolution steeled.

His daughter knew what had to be done.