Fortune's Price

Maya Chen stared at the glowing numbers on her Luck Account: -47.3%. The red digits pulsed mockingly on her wrist display, a constant reminder of her depleting fortune. At twenty-eight, she was already underwater in the luck market, having sold off chunks of her future prosperity to pay for her mother's cancer treatments.

The street vendor outside her apartment building operated a small luck exchange, his booth adorned with the universal symbol: a golden mobius strip wrapped around a question mark. "Morning, Miss Chen," he called out. "Luck's trading high today. Good time to buy back some of what you've lost."

She forced a smile. "Not today, Mr. Watson. Can barely afford my morning coffee."
The elderly vendor shook his head. "Can't afford not to, if you ask me. Word is MegaLuck Corporation is planning to raise their rates again. Soon, basic luck coverage will cost more than health insurance."

Maya knew he was right. Ever since scientists had discovered how to quantify, extract, and transfer probability factors between individuals ten years ago, luck had become the world's most valuable commodity. Those with excess sold to the highest bidders, while the desperate bartered away their future good fortune for immediate needs.

Her phone buzzed – a message from her boss: "Meeting in 15. Bring the Peterson proposal."
Maya's heart sank. The proposal she'd stayed up all night perfecting was saved on her laptop, which had crashed this morning. With her luck levels so low, such mishaps were becoming routine. She needed a boost, just enough to get through this presentation.
"Mr. Watson," she called out, walking back to his booth. "What's the rate for a two-hour luck lease?"

He consulted his holographic display. "I can do 0.5% for two hundred dollars. Premium luck, guaranteed positive outcomes."

It was highway robbery, but she was desperate. Maya pressed her thumb to his scanner, authorizing the transfer. A warm tingle spread through her body as the borrowed luck took effect. Her wrist display ticked up slightly: -46.8%.
"Be careful with that," Watson warned. "Leased luck has to be paid back with interest. The house always wins."

On her way to work, Maya noticed the difference immediately. The subway arrived just as she reached the platform. A seat opened up right in front of her. Her crashed laptop booted up perfectly on the first try.

The meeting went flawlessly. Her presentation impressed not just her boss, but the CEO who had unexpectedly dropped in. As she packed up her materials afterward, her boss approached with a smile.

"Outstanding work, Maya. We're promoting you to Senior Account Manager. Thirty percent raise, plus – more importantly – a luck stipend."

Maya's hand trembled as she signed the contract. Corporate luck stipends were the holy grail of employment benefits. No more borrowing from predatory lenders or scraping by on luck fumes.

But as she rode the elevator down to the lobby, her wrist display suddenly flashed a warning. The leased luck was wearing off early – a known risk of second-hand probability trading. Her -46.8% plummeted to -52.1% as the borrowed fortune extracted its interest.
The elevator shuddered to a halt between floors.

"Just my luck," muttered the CEO, who had joined her for the ride down. "Haven't had a negative probability incident in years, not with my fortune portfolio."
Maya said nothing, knowing her depleted luck levels had likely caused the malfunction. The CEO studied her wrist display with a frown.

"Those are dangerous numbers, Ms. Chen. You should really have a proper luck management strategy at your level."

"I had to sell most of it," Maya admitted. "Medical bills."
The CEO's expression softened. "Ah. Yes, that's all too common these days. Tell you what – I have more luck than I need. Been meaning to diversify my portfolio anyway. I'll transfer you 10% of my reserves, interest-free. Consider it a signing bonus."
Maya's eyes widened. "Sir, I couldn't possibly—"

"Nonsense. Fortune favors the bold, Ms. Chen. Besides, luck is meant to circulate. Hoarding it helps no one."

Before she could protest further, he pressed his platinum luck-transfer card to her wrist display. The numbers jumped: -52.1% to +7.9%. The elevator hummed back to life immediately.

For the next few months, Maya's life improved dramatically. The luck stipend combined with her raise allowed her to start buying back her sold-off fortune. Her mother's treatments showed promising results. She even met someone – a kind-hearted lawyer named James who specialized in defending victims of luck-based discrimination.

But her newfound prosperity was haunted by what she saw around her. Homeless people with negative triple-digit luck levels. Children whose parents had sold their future fortune to pay rent. An entire underground economy of luck addicts chasing probability highs.
One evening, she found Mr. Watson closing his booth early, his usually cheerful face drawn with worry.

"MegaLuck's buying up all the independent exchanges," he explained. "Soon they'll have a monopoly on fortune trading. Prices will skyrocket. The poor won't stand a chance."
Maya thought of her mother, of all the others facing impossible choices. An idea began to form.

She spent weeks investigating MegaLuck's business practices, using her restored luck levels to access restricted documents and make crucial connections. James helped her build a legal case against the corporation's monopolistic practices and predatory lending.
The night before they planned to file the lawsuit, Maya's wrist display began to flash. Her luck levels were dropping rapidly, despite her positive balance. Someone was draining her fortune remotely.

Her phone rang – a private number.
"Ms. Chen," a cold voice said. "I believe you have some documents that don't belong to you. Drop the lawsuit, or we'll drain every last bit of luck from your account. You know what happens to people who hit -100%."

She knew. They disappeared, their very existence seemingly erased by probability itself.
Maya looked at her wrist display: +2.3% and falling. She thought of Mr. Watson, of the homeless people, of desperate parents selling their children's fortune.
"Do your worst," she said and hung up.

Her luck plummeted into the negative digits, but she had prepared for this. The evidence was already backed up, distributed to journalists worldwide. James had filed injunctions in multiple jurisdictions.

By morning, Maya's luck levels had bottomed out at -97.4%. She could barely walk without tripping, and her coffee machine had exploded spectacularly. But the news was reporting on MegaLuck's illegal activities. The corporation's stock was plummeting.
She made her way to Mr. Watson's booth, stumbling twice.

"You did it, girl," he said, beaming. "MegaLuck's finished. Government's already talking about regulations, fortune trading reforms."
Maya managed a weak smile as a bus splashed muddy water on her clothes. "Worth every percentage point."

"Here," Watson said, pressing his ancient luck-transfer card to her wrist. "I've been saving this for someone who deserves it. Pure luck, from back before they commercialized it. The real stuff, not this artificial probability they peddle nowadays."
Maya's display flickered, then stabilized at 0.0%. Perfect equilibrium – neither fortunate nor unfortunate, just purely human.

"But how will you survive without your reserves?" she asked.
Watson smiled. "Some things are more important than luck, Ms. Chen. Like doing what's right. Besides, at my age, I've learned that the best fortune isn't something you can buy or sell. It's what you make for yourself, and what you leave behind for others."

As if to prove his point, the sun broke through the clouds, casting a rainbow over the city. Maya's phone buzzed with a message from her mother's doctor: the latest tests showed complete remission.

In the months that followed, the luck economy transformed. Regulations prevented fortune-hoarding and predatory lending. Public luck banks were established to help those in medical emergencies. Schools stopped tracking students' probability levels.

Maya kept her luck balance at zero, refusing the corporate stipends and fortune bonuses. She found that living without artificial probability enhancement made each success sweeter, each stroke of serendipity more magical.

Sometimes, on her way to work, she still stopped at Watson's booth, not to trade luck, but to share a coffee and watch the sun rise over a city where fortune was no longer for sale – just waiting to be made.