I wondered how many farms had slave overseers but never asked.Becka brought me some corn pone and bacon and told me to stay put. "Lots a'men, white me..., wif guns up at the house," she said. "They wants you." She poked a finger into my chest and smiled.I ate and stayed in the small hut, peeking out from time to time but not seeing anything worth remembering. The day's main meal was in early afternoon and always-smiling Becka brought me some scraps and a half-loaf of good bread. "They's still up. But a billionaire?Three times over? Oh My God. Throw in a few expletives while you're at it! God Damn!"I'm richer than Donald Trump." I said through my slack-jawed daze."you're richer than quite a few billionaires," Michael laughed. "The Forbes 400 is a list of the 400 richest Americans and you are richer than almost three hundred of them." How does this work then?" I asked through my slowly weeping eyes. I was crying tears, not of joy, not of pain or anger, but tears of uncertainty. I had no. More

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