Duke got back to Queens just as the sun was setting.
The sky was a bruised purple.
He checked the rusted mailbox in the lobby.
There was a package inside.
A sleek, black box. Heavy.
No return address.
Duke stared at it. He hadn't updated his address in the App. He hadn't told anyone he was staying with Gus.
A shiver ran down his spine. The System knew where he was. It knew exactly where he slept.
He looked up at the corner of the lobby ceiling. Was there a camera there? Was the System watching him just like Simon watched Victoria?
He swallowed the fear. He was already in too deep.
Duke took it upstairs.
Gus wasn't home.
Duke sat on the couch and opened the box.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a card.
It wasn't plastic.
It was metal. Brushed titanium, completely blank except for a chip and a magnetic strip.
No bank logo. No numbers.
Just his name laser-etched on the back in tiny font.
Duke Zeller.
It wasn't a Centurion card. It wasn't a Palladium card. It was something else entirely. A key to the offshore account the App had created.
The App pinged.
New Task: High Roller.
Objective: Spend $50,000 in 24 hours.
_Reward: 100% Reimbursement (One-time use)._
Duke stared at the screen.
Spend fifty grand. And get it all back.
A week ago, spending fifty dollars was a crisis.
Now, it was a chore.
He stood up.
He looked at his reflection in the hallway mirror.
He still looked like a loser.
The hoodie. The jeans. The scruffy beard. The haircut that Gus had given him three months ago with kitchen scissors.
He didn't look like the owner of this titanium card.
He looked like he stole it.
"Time for an upgrade," Duke said.
He opened the Uber app.
His thumb hovered over UberX.
Habit.
He moved it down.
Uber Black.
He requested a ride.
Driver: Mohammed. Vehicle: Cadillac Escalade.
Five minutes later, the massive black SUV pulled up to the curb in front of the rundown apartment building.
It looked like a spaceship that had landed in a junkyard.
Gus was walking up the sidewalk, carrying a six-pack of cheap beer.
He stopped, staring at the car.
Duke walked out of the building.
"Duke?" Gus asked, pointing at the SUV. "Is that... for you?"
"Yeah," Duke said.
"Where are you going? A funeral? Or a mafia meeting?"
Duke laughed. "Just going shopping, G."
The driver, a man in a suit, got out and opened the rear door for Duke.
Gus's jaw dropped.
"Dude, seriously, did you rob a bank with that crypto money?"
"I'll explain later," Duke said. "Don't wait up."
He slid into the back seat.
The leather smelled rich.
The door closed with a solid thud, shutting out the noise of the street.
"Where to, sir?" Mohammed asked.
"SoHo," Duke said. "Drop me at L'Artiste."
The car glided away.
Duke watched Gus shrinking in the rearview mirror, standing there with his mouth open.
A pang of sadness hit him.
He was leaving that life behind.
The ride into Manhattan was smooth.
Duke watched the city change through the tinted window.
From the graffiti and trash of Queens to the glittering glass towers of Midtown, and finally to the cobblestone chic of SoHo.
The car pulled up in front of L'Artiste.
It was a salon that looked more like an art gallery.
No prices in the window. Just a minimalist logo.
A bouncer stood at the door.
He was big, wearing a tight black t-shirt.
Duke got out of the car.
The bouncer looked him up and down.
He saw the hoodie. The sneakers.
He crossed his arms.
"Deliveries are in the back, pal," the bouncer grunted.
Duke didn't stop walking.
He walked right up to the man.
"I'm not a delivery," Duke said.
"We're private. Members only," the bouncer said, stepping in his way.
Duke reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the titanium card.
He held it up.
The streetlight caught the metal edge.
The bouncer frowned. He didn't recognize the card. But he recognized the weight of it. Cheap cards didn't reflect light like that.
Duke held his gaze. "Run it. If it declines, I'll walk."
The bouncer hesitated. Training told him to kick this bum out. Instinct told him this bum was dangerous.
"Right this way," he mumbled, stepping aside.
Duke tucked the card back into his pocket.
He walked through the door.
He didn't look back.
