body. When she'd had money, she'd given it away. She'd never had a need for it. But having money now seemed important. Although she didn't know the cost of a bar of soap, she knew that with money came a certain freedom that she'd need to survive. She held the possibilities at bay as she waited for Kumi's answer.
"And now? How much do I have now?"
"A little over $74,000 Global Dollars," Kumi replied, the sparkle returning to her eyes.
"Oh, my God!" Rebecca stared for a long moment. Suddenly she frowned. "Is that a lot? I mean, I don't know the value of money now. What can I buy with that?"
Kumi shrugged. "About the same thing you could have bought in 1995 Legacy United States Dollars."
"Are you kidding?"
"Nope."
They were interrupted by a knock. Kumi opened the door and spoke with someone in hushed tones.
Rebecca waited, realizing for the first time that she probably did have a future. The money was a nice stake and would be a terrific help getting her back on track. After Kumi's reintroduction, Rebecca could even find a job. There had to be some lo-tech work that suited her.
The room looked like it belonged in a cheap hotel. An orange sofa sat against one wall. A table and two chairs had been arranged by a curtained window. Although thread-bare and gauche, the furnishings were more opulent than anything she'd been allowed to use during her incarceration. Her Spartan cell had been a perfect merging of metal and cinderblock—effective, easy to keep clean, and about as comforting as stone and metal could be.
The pièce de résistance of the room was a large velvet painting of dogs sitting around a table playing poker as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. When Kumi had prepared the reintroduction room for her, she'd found a reference to this painting in Rebecca's files and placed it here. The painting had been her brother's, something she'd given him for his birthday. He'd placed it in his den as a reminder for all things wonderful, sometimes gazing at it as he drank scotch long into the night. She'd never really understood the imagery. She'd only known that the painting had made him happy.
Now, looking at the velvet picture of the dogs playing poker gave her strength. She remembered a saying that her brother had been fond of—If dogs can play poker then I can rule the world. Of course he never had ruled the world. Before she'd been incarcerated, the best he'd managed to do was sell used computers over the Internet and auction video tapes that he'd found at garage sales, but the sentiment was no less grand.
Rebecca turned as she heard the door close. Kumi walked slowly back to her, her forlorn gaze losing focus midway between them. Where a smile had lit her face just moments before, a frown now darkened her features, bringing with it the harsh edges of dread. Kumi stopped in front of Rebecca. She held her hands out in front of her, empty and clutching. Her eyes tried to find the right place to gaze at Rebecca's face.
"What's wrong, Kumi?" Rebecca asked.
Kumi breathed twice, each exhalation a sigh. "It's your brother," she said at last.
"David? I was hoping you'd tracked him down..." Her voice trailed off as she finally acknowledged the agonized emotions in the young woman's face. Rebecca grabbed Kumi's hands. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
"The medics found him in his flat," she said, her voice low. "They called it a stroke."
"A stroke?"
"His brain filled with blood. There was nothing they could do," Kumi said evenly. "Even the donor squads were too late to save him."
"When did it happen?" A pit yawned open in Rebecca's chest.
"An hour ago."
She felt sick to her stomach. "What caused it?"
"They don't know."
"How could he have a stroke?" Rebecca felt her mind swirling around thoughts of her brother. She remembered when he'd been five, then ten. She remembered him at her trial and the miserable look on his face. She remembered that she hadn't been allowed to speak with him since. "He's only forty. What happened to him, Kumi? Why him? Why now?"
Chapter 2
"I want to go."
"What? Where?"
"I want to go to my brother's apartment."
"He's not there. They've taken him away."
"Who took him?"
"He had several organs levied. Donor squads monitoring his status usually arrive within thirty minutes."
"What about the police?" Rebecca asked. "What about an ambulance?"