The Winner by David Baldacci

“I was beginning to wonder about you, LuAnn,” Jackson said. She could envision him checking his watch, probably marveling at how close she had cut it.

She forced herself to breathe normally. “I guess the time just got away from me. I had a lot going on.”

“Your cavalier attitude is refreshing, although, quite frankly, it’s a bit amazing to me.”

“So what now?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

LuAnn looked puzzled. “What?” Her brain was near serious burnout. A series of pains shot throughout her body. If all this turned out to be a joke . . .

“I made you an offer, LuAnn. In order to have a legally enforceable arrangement, I need an acceptance from you. A formality, perhaps, but one on which I have to insist.”

“I accept.”

“Wonderful. I can tell you with complete assurance that you will never regret that decision.”

LuAnn looked nervously around. Two people walking on the other side of the highway were staring at the car. She put the vehicle in gear and headed down the road. “So now what?” she again asked Jackson.

“Where are you?”

Her tone was wary. “Why?” Then she added quickly, “I’m at home.”

“Fine. You are to go to the nearest outlet selling lottery tickets. You will purchase one.”

“What numbers do I play?”

“That doesn’t matter. As you know, you have two options. Either accept a ticket with numbers automatically dispensed by the machine or pick whatever numbers you want. They’re all fed into the same central computer system with up-to-the-second results and no duplicate combinations are allowed; that ensures only one winner. If you opt for a personalized combination and your first choice has already been taken, simply pick another combination.”

“But I don’t understand. I thought you were gonna tell me what numbers to play. The winning numbers.”

“There is no need for you to understand anything, LuAnn.” Jackson’s voice had risen a notch higher. “You are simply to do what you’re told. Once you have the combination, call me back and tell me what the numbers are. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“So when do I get the money?”

“There will be a press conference—”

“Press conference!” LuAnn almost flipped the car over. She fought to keep it under control with her good arm as she cradled the phone under her chin.

Now Jackson sounded truly exasperated. “Haven’t you ever watched one of these things? The winner attends a press conference, usually in New York. It’s televised across the country, the world. You’ll have your photo taken holding a ceremonial check and then reporters will ask questions about your background, your child, your dreams, what you’ll do with the money. Quite nauseating, but the Lottery Commission insists. It’s terrific PR for them. That’s why ticket sales have been doubling every year for the last five years. Everybody loves a deserving winner, if for no other reason than most people believe themselves to be quite deserving.”

“Do I have to do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to be on TV.”

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Keep in mind that you’re going to be at least fifty million dollars richer, LuAnn. For that kind of money, they expect you to be able to handle one press conference. And, frankly, they are right.”

“So I have to go?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do I have to use my real name?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?”

“I’ve got my reasons, Mr. Jackson. Would I?”

“Yes! There is a certain statute, LuAnn, not that I would expect you to be aware of it, popularly termed the ‘right to know’ law. To put it simply, it says that the public is entitled to know the identities, the real identities, of all lottery winners.”

LuAnn let out a deep breath filled with disappointment. “Okay, so when do I get the money?”

Now Jackson discernibly paused. The hair on the back of LuAnn’s neck started to bristle. “Listen, don’t try pulling no crap on me here. What about the damn money?”

“There’s no cause to get testy, LuAnn. I was merely pondering how to explain it to you in the simplest terms possible. The money will be transferred into an account of your designation.”

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