The letter from Great-Uncle Ezekiel arrived on a Tuesday in March, the kind of March in the Delta that's warm enough to make you forget winter existed but cold enough to make you regret that you'd forgotten.
"Trade your cotton," the letter said. "Learn what money is. Come back when you know." Beauverne Thibodeaux read it three times. He was twenty-six, heir to the Thibodeaux Cotton Empire — or what was left of it. His grandfather had died with the estate tied up in lawsuits that had been going on since 1912. Beau's father had died in 1928, shortly after the market peaked, which felt like something...
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