The copper shimmer dissolved behind me, leaving only the basement’s mildewed hush and the clatter of the cart’s casters settling on concrete. I exhaled, already rehearsing my checklist—stash the loot, shower, log the pearls—when the status monitor bolted to the ceiling stuttered to life with a crackle of violet pixels.
ITEMIZED TRANSFER COMPLETE. TOTAL DECLARED VALUE:?$3,900,000
GATE TOLL (10?%):?$390,000 USD
My pulse missed its next beat. Three point nine—
“No, no, read that again,” I blurted, as if the screen might apologize.
The numbers stayed, steady as tomb?engraving. I fumbled for the wall?mounted keyboard, fingers wooden, and jabbed the Enter key. A columnar readout blinked into place:
Qty Item Est. Value1Van Cleef & Arpels ‘Tie’ Diamond Necklace $3,300,000 14Mixed Diamond Tennis Bracelets $185,0006Rolex / Omega Watches (vintage)$92,00024 Gold Coins (assorted pre?’33)$41,0001 Misc. Gemstone Rings & Brooches $34,000—Cash (USD)$248,000 TOTAL $3,900,000
A laugh—half bark, half wheeze—escaped my throat. Anna’s pawnshop “bracelet haul” clearly hadn’t been just trinkets. But a one?off auction darling worth three?point?three?million? I imagined her shrugging, “Looked sparkly.”
Reality slammed back. Three?hundred?ninety?thousand dollars. I swiveled to the stairwell, as if the money might be hiding in a laundry basket. My entire liquid reserve after the RAV4, the plywood, the tampons, sat just under $4,000.
“Okay. Breathe. Solutions.”
Step?one: confirm timer. “Gate, time remaining before opening, Pending Balance reversal of $390,000 U.S.D”
ENTRY WINDOW REMAINING: 14 Days 17?HOURS?35?MINUTES
My stomach twisted hard enough to cramp.
I paced across the basement, boots scuffing dust spirals. Options ricocheted in my skull:
Sell quickly. Fire?sale the necklace at a Manhattan jeweler? Even at fifty?percent of estimate I’d still net 1.6?mil—but no reputable buyer wires six figures on a Friday night without appraisal, paperwork, and fifteen business days, So I would have to take it to an upscale Auction along with the rest of the Items.
Bank loan. Ten hours to cut through commercial?lending red tape? Not a chance.
Crime. Silent grimace. That road spiraled straight to prison or worse, But it is an option.
I rested my forehead against the cold cinder block. Anna had risked her life to drag that necklace through dead streets. Now I was the choke?point.
Think smaller. The toll wasn’t due per?item; it was ten percent of whatever crossed next time. I didn’t have to pay immediately—only before I could go back. But the window countdown meant if I missed this cycle, I’d strand Anna for two more weeks with dwindling food, one gun, and the Empire tightening patrols.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Seventeen hours. I shoved fingers through my hair until my scalp burned.
First actionable plan bubbled up: private buyer network. Back in my outsourcing days we occasionally imported estate jewelry for Hong?Kong clients; the brokers knew how to wire six figures overnight. I hadn’t spoken to any of them in years, but favors owed lingered longer than good credit.
I sprinted upstairs, two steps at a time, boot soles slamming pine. Laptop open, Wi?Fi handshake, VPN humming. I thumbed through contacts until I found “Lam, Francis — HK Gem Import.” Fingers shook so hard I mis?typed the email’s subject line twice.
Need immediate buy?back arrangement for VC&A Tie Necklace. GIA cert unavailable. Video call possible. Price flexible for 24?hr settlement.
Send.
I fired similar missiles to three others—pawn?cap sharks who loved distressed sellers. Odds of a midnight miracle? Tiny. But each message felt like throwing a rope across the void.
While the inbox sat empty, I dug through file boxes until I found Dad’s old safe. Inside, laminated emergency cash—only five bundles, each ten thousand. Fifty grand. Good for plywood and coffee, laughable for cosmic tariffs.
Fifteen minutes ticked; no response pings. Sweat prickled. I slammed the lid.
New plan. Liquidate the rest of the haul now, reduce the toll. If I parted with the necklace before next crossing—even selling here for pennies—I wouldn’t pay ten percent on it. The Gate toll applied to outbound volume only. So if I off?loaded the big rock stateside, my charge would drop to maybe sixty grand—painful but survivable with a bridge loan and my last credit card.
I groaned. That still meant finding a buyer tonight.
Phone buzzed. Email: Lam Francis — OOO auto?reply. Perfect. Another buzz—this time a different contact.
Subject: Re: Estate VC&A
“Joshua? Been a while. Send hi?res photos, timestamped. We can talk. —Marianne G.”
Hope sparked. Marianne repped a Swiss fund; she once wired 250K for a sapphire sight unseen. Photos now. I fumbled the necklace from its velvet cylinder, careful not to nick a prong. The diamonds caught kitchen fluorescents, spraying prisms on ceiling paint. Even in panic I felt reverence: 400 stones draping like liquid starlight.
Click—front, side, clasp. I scrawled today’s date on a sticky note, held it beside the piece in frame, snapped again. Attach, send.
While waiting, I catalogued the smaller loot: bracelets, Rolexes, coins. A pawn consortium might advance thirty percent of street price—maybe enough to patch the toll if Marianne low?balled.
Inbox chimed.
“Verified Tie Necklace, est. weight 120 cts; offer 3.1 ?M USD contingent on overnight FedEx to Geneva, funds released on tracking scan, Need Wire info. 05:00?EST cutoff.”
Blood roared in my ears. 3.1 ?million—wire on scan. I could drive to JFK FedEx freight by 3 a.m. But I’d have the wire first, pay the Gate, still leave 2.7?M profit? My hands shook.
“Do it,” I muttered, typing acceptance. I replied with wiring instructions and a prepaid airway?bill PDF.
I exhaled, near?laughing. It might actually work.
Checklist spun: Print label, pack necklace in tamper?case, race to airport, drop before cutoff, watch tracking update, drive back, wire clears domestically by noon.
It was insane—absurdly risky—but so was everything since a copper key rewrote physics.
I dashed downstairs, grabbed a pelican micro case, foam?wrapped the necklace, sealed it. Upstairs printer sputtered awake, spitting labels. My knee bounced like a seismograph needle.
A thought blindsided me: What if the Feds or someone track me how can I explain this? But it was a risk I would have to take, atleast the Gate took cash its cosmic bureaucracy weirdly patriotic. Still, I added a contingency: keep 390K in small Bills—those it definitely liked.
I slung my cross?body bag, fetched the RAV4 keys, and paused at the copper door. My reflection in its burnished surface looked hollow?eyed, half feral with adrenaline.
“Hold on, Anna,” I whispered to the metal. “I’m coming back—with a paid ticket.”
I killed the lights, locked up, and sprinted into the biting night, a three?million?dollar pendant and one ticking cosmic invoice jangling in my pocket.