She had answered a different kind of question entirely: What is a human life worth when all the currency is gone?

The old man on the other end fumbled. She heard a drawer open, the rustle of envelopes, a sigh. "It's not... I don't have it in front of me. My son gave it to me. For the trip."

Marta typed the number he recited. The screen blinked. Balance: $4.62.

And her answer was $200. A lie. A gift. The only thing she had left to spend. The next morning, her supervisor called her into the glass office. "Marta. We pulled the call. The old man's card had $4.62."