“Mommy!” she cried.

“I’m right here, sweet girl,” I said, my eyes fixed on Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn pointed at the bag. “Drop the cash. There.”

I tossed the duffel onto the concrete; it burst open, spilling packed hundreds. The hired men’s eyes dropped to it. Gwendolyn kept hers on me.

“On your knees!” she screamed. “I want to hear you beg. I want you to tell your daughter you’re nothing without your family name.”

I looked up at her with weary contempt. “Gwendolyn, your problem was always thinking so small. You honestly believed that stealing a pendant, faking an injury, and crying in front of a weak man made you powerful.”