The Daughter They Called Unlucky

When I was three, a fortune-teller ran his hand over my skull and said, "This girl was born unlucky. Money will never stay with her.

"Give her no more than $6.60 a year. One cent more, and she'll pay for it with her life."

So every birthday, my card held the same thing: a crumpled five-dollar bill, a one-dollar coin, and sixty cents in change.

My adopted younger sister, Sophie, was different. Her birthday cash could cover an entire bed.

I cried and threw tantrums. I even snatched one of Sophie's envelopes, the one with $660,000 in it.