In the summer of 1748, Thomas Hargrove stood at a Richmond slave auction and felt destiny calling.
The man on the block was named Silas.
He was strong, quiet, and possessed twelve fingers — six on each hand.
To Thomas, a man obsessed with omens, stars, and lucky numbers, this was no coincidence.
It was a divine sign.
He bid aggressively, ignoring the whispers around him, until he won Silas for £85 sterling — nearly a quarter of his entire fortune.
His wife Margaret was horrified when he returned to their modest King William County plantation.
“Thomas, what have you done?”
She whispered.
“We cannot afford this madness.”
“You don’t understand,” Thomas replied, eyes gleaming.
“He is the key.
Twelve fingers.
The stars promised me such a sign.
With him, our fortune will multiply beyond measure.”
At first, it seemed he might be right.
The tobacco harvest that year was exceptional.
Buyers paid premium prices.
Thomas paraded Silas around the fields like a living talisman, making him touch tools before planting and stand in doorways during important meetings.
He even had Silas hold pouches of coins overnight “to bless them.”
But then the ledgers began to lie.
One October morning, Thomas opened his meticulously kept books and found entries that made no sense.
Sales he clearly remembered were missing or recorded at half the amount.
Debts he had paid were still listed as outstanding.
When he unlocked his iron strongbox, more than half the cash — over £260 — had simply vanished.
The box and study had remained locked.
No one else had the keys.
Panic turned to obsession.
Thomas questioned every servant, every overseer, and even the enslaved workers.
He found no answers.
And through it all, Silas remained silent, watching with calm, unreadable eyes.
By November, creditors circled the plantation.
Buyers claimed Thomas had sold them inferior tobacco and then denied the deals.
Entire hogsheads disappeared from the curing barns.
Thomas’s once-sharp memory fractured.
He gave orders one day and denied them the next.
He became convinced Silas had cursed him.
One cold night, Thomas cornered the slave in his study.
“You have brought ruin upon my house,” he hissed.
“Undo it, or I will see you hanged.”
Silas met his gaze steadily.
“I have done nothing, master.
Your troubles are your own.”
Then, on December 15th, the study caught fire.
Thomas woke to smoke and flames.
By the time the fire was brought under control, every ledger, every receipt, and every record of the family’s finances had been reduced to ash.
The strongbox survived the heat, but the remaining money inside was charred and worthless.
Thomas stood in the blackened ruins, soot-streaked and broken, staring at the one man he still believed could save him.
Silas.
