Abram was filthy rich. His abode buzzed and bustled with industry! He had hundreds of servants tending to vast herds of sheep, cattle, and donkeys.

One day a friend stopped by to drop off some theater tickets for Abram, and as his eyes swept over the sprawling expanse of Abram’s wealth, the friend asked, “What is the secret of your enterprise? How did you come by such boundless prosperity here in the land of Egypt?”

Abram stared into his goblet, watching his own pale reflection ripple across the dark liquid. He shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his fine Egyptian linen feeling less like silk and more like a heavy wool coat in the midday sun.

“The path of the sojourner is complex, my friend,” Abram said, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate murmur. “One must learn to adapt to the customs of powerful courts. To negotiate… delicate trade agreements.”

“Trade agreements?” the friend pressed, genuinely curious. “Was it grain futures? Spices? What commodity could possibly move a Pharaoh to bestow thousands of shekels, herds of camels, and scores of servants upon a man who has only recently arrived in the land?”

“Patricians and squires do not dwell on the specifics of their liquidations,” Abram replied hastily, taking a long, uncharacteristic gulp of his wine. He looked past his steward toward palace of Pharaoh, where no doubt Sarai sat in silence, her eyes distant, her face an unreadable mask. A cold knot tightened in Abram’s stomach as he remembered the stifling fear that had seized him at the Egyptian border—the paralyzing terror of being an unprotected immigrant, convinced he would be murdered for his wife’s beauty.

“It was a transaction of… strategic positioning,” Abram stammered, clearing his throat and avoiding his friend’s eager gaze. “We brought something of immense, rare value into the palace. An arrangement was forged. Pharaoh was… exceptionally generous in his appreciation of our household’s unique assets.”

“What were the assets? Priceless family heirlooms!??”

“Indeed,” Abram whispered, his knuckles turning white around the bronze cup as the shame burned hot in his chest.