The Collector worked out of a penthouse on Level 3.
Not their residence - The Collector was too careful for that. Just a neutral space, elegantly furnished, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Saturn's rings. Real windows, not screens. The kind of luxury that cost more than most Gammas would make in their lifetime.
I stood in the elevator watching the level indicator climb, my heart hammering despite the Drift I'd taken to calm my nerves. Finn was three blocks away with an exit vehicle, ready to extract me if this went sideways. The box of sample currency was in my bag, heavy with possibility.
The elevator chimed. Level 3. Alpha territory.
My temporary pass let me through the scanner - purchased from a crooked Beta administrator for fifty thousand credits. It would work once, maybe twice, before the system flagged the irregularity. But once was all I needed.
The penthouse door opened before I could knock.
She was not what I expected.
The Collector was a woman in her sixties, Alpha-caste elegant, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my entire squat. Her hair was silver and perfect. Her eyes were sharp and calculating, the kind that saw through bullshit like glass.
"Mr. Varro," she said, voice cultured and precise. "Punctual. I appreciate that."
"Ms...?"
"Just Collector. Names are irrelevant in our transaction." She gestured me inside. "Please, sit. May I offer you something? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"
I sat in a chair that was obscenely comfortable. "Coffee. Black."
She prepared it herself - real beans, expensive machine, the process precise and practiced. When she handed me the cup, I caught a whiff of something that smelled like heaven.
"Now then," she said, settling into the chair across from me. "You claim to have pre-Collapse Earth currency. Physical specimens in verified condition. I confess I'm skeptical. Every month someone approaches me with 'authentic' Earth artifacts that turn out to be replicas or forgeries."
I pulled out the box, set it on the table between us. "I understand skepticism. That's why I brought samples for verification."
She opened the box with careful hands. I watched her face as she saw the contents - the preserved bills, the meticulous packaging, the variety of denominations and dates.
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. Hunger. Recognition. The look of a collector finding something genuine.
She pulled out a bill - a hundred-dollar note from 2089. Examined it under a specialized light. Ran it through a authentication scanner. Tested the paper composition.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. She worked in concentrated silence while I drank the best coffee I'd ever tasted and tried not to sweat through my cheap clothes.
Finally, she set the bill down and looked at me.
"Where did you find these?"
"Scavenging. Deep city. Sealed vault that hadn't been opened since before the Sealing."
"And there's more?"
"Substantially more."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Mr. Varro, do you understand what you have?"
"Paper money from Earth. Valuable to collectors."
"This isn't just 'paper money.' These are pristine specimens from the late pre-Collapse era. United States currency from 2089 - the last year before the economic collapse, before the corporate wars, before everything fell apart. Some of these bills probably never even circulated. They're not just artifacts, they're time capsules."
She pulled out more bills, examining dates and conditions with the reverence of someone handling religious relics.
"This Euro note is from 2094 - after the Union dissolved but before the evacuation. This yuan is from 2097, signed by the last Chinese finance minister. These aren't just currency, Mr. Varro. They're history."
"And worth?"
She smiled slightly. "To the right collectors? Everything you have in this box is worth approximately five million credits. For the entire collection you describe - assuming similar quality and variety - I'd estimate two hundred to three hundred million."
The number hit me like a physical blow. Three hundred million. For paper. For history. For something I'd found in the dark.
"And you can pay that?" My voice came out rougher than I intended.
"I can. I represent a consortium of Alpha-class collectors who've been searching for specimens like these for decades. We have liquid assets specifically allocated for Earth artifact acquisition." She set the bills down carefully. "But I need to see the full collection. Verify authenticity across the entire inventory. And I need your assurance that this is the only source, that you're not sitting on multiple caches you'll flood the market with."
"It's unique. And I'm willing to sell exclusively to you."
"Smart. Market saturation would devalue everything." She pulled up a contract on her display. "I propose this: I'll purchase this sample box now for five million as good faith. You retrieve the remainder. I verify and authenticate. Upon completion, I'll pay two hundred and fifty million for full collection, plus a ten percent finder's fee for future Earth artifacts you may locate."
Two hundred and fifty-five million total. For paper. For history. For six months of periodic trips to the deep city.
"Deal," I said.
"Excellent." She transmitted the contract. "Read carefully. Sign with your biometric marker. The five million will transfer immediately to any account you designate."
I read through legal language that made my head spin, but the core was simple: exclusive sales rights, authentication verification, payment on delivery, confidentiality clauses. Nothing obviously predatory.
I signed. My biometric marker - the red Gamma tag I'd carried my whole life - authorized the contract.
Five million credits appeared in my account seventeen seconds later.
I stared at the number. It was more money than I'd ever imagined having. And it was just the first payment.
The Collector was already packaging the sample bills with preservation materials. "I'll schedule pickups as you retrieve additional inventory. Use this secure channel." She transmitted a communication code. "When can you deliver the next batch?"
"Two weeks. Maybe three. The location is... difficult to access."
"I understand. But Mr. Varro?" She met my eyes. "Others will pay for information about your source. Competitors. Criminals. Even station authority might be interested in Earth artifacts from sealed sections. Be very careful who you trust."
"I'm always careful."
"Good. Because you're about to be very wealthy. And wealth attracts attention like blood attracts sharks."
I stood, the transaction complete, my life fundamentally altered. "Thank you for your business."
"Thank you for the opportunity. It's rare to find authentic pieces of Earth's final years." She walked me to the elevator. "One more thing. That Drift you took before coming here - I could smell it when you arrived. May I offer some advice?"
I tensed. "What advice?"
"When you become truly wealthy, the drug dealers charge more. Buy better quality, but use less often. Addiction is expensive in ways beyond credits." She said it clinically, without judgment. "I've seen too many fortunes dissolved into chemical escape."
The elevator doors opened.
"I'll consider it," I said.
"Do that. I'd prefer my suppliers remain alive and functional."
I rode the elevator down, my hands shaking despite the Drift, despite the five million, despite everything.
The Collector was right. I was going to be wealthy.
And I had absolutely no idea what that meant.
Finn met me three blocks away, in an alley that smelled like recycled water and rust.
"Well?" they asked.
"Five million for the sample box. Two fifty total for everything else."
They stared at me. "Say that again."
"Two hundred fifty million credits. For all of it. Plus future finder's fees."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah."
We stood there in the alley, two Gammas who'd just sold paper for more money than should exist, and laughed until we cried.
Then we went to buy dinner at a place that didn't serve expired rations.
For the first time in our lives, we could afford real food.
It was a start.