In a near-future United States, wealth has become the new smoking epidemic—an accepted risk, with the distant consequences outweighed by near-term benefit. Tremendous wealth, while not illegal, now comes with a cost. Society’s richest, the billionaires and trillionaires, face an annual wealth lottery, designed to redistribute their fortunes to the 99%.
This excerpt from the tentatively-titled Settlement follows one such man as he prepares to step dutifully onto the gold circle, revealing a world where justice is measured by balance and obedience.
Settlement: An Excerpt
I was told I could keep my shoes. Years ago a focus group decided bare feet felt punitive and medieval, while shoes suggested willing participation—a citizen shaking hands with obligation. The distinction comforted viewers. The markets too, though they no longer pretended not to watch.
The wardrobe attendant kept her eyes lowered as she knelt to wipe a smudge from the leather. She handled me with the care reserved for fragile objects. I wondered if she knew the logo stitched inside the heel once belonged to me. Ownership had thinned into trivia.
“You’ll stand there, on the gold circle,” she said. “Red is only used if someone refuses.”
“I won’t.”
No one had in years. The country preferred continuity to spectacle. Spectacle belonged to the era that required this one.
Behind the pale blue velvet curtain, the plaza filled with holiday noise—vendors negotiating cheerfulness, drones settling into airspace, parents answering questions children should not yet know to ask. A band attempted the anthem and lost it to the wind.
A technician, young enough to have been my son, fastened the biometric halo behind my ear. My pulse appeared on the rehearsal monitor large enough for the control room to study the way my analysts once studied quarterly reports.
“Keep your breathing even,” he said. “Last year the numbers spiked early. The commentators struggled.”
I nodded automatically. For most of my life I nodded when someone explained how my behavior affected strangers.
A wall display showed the disbursement cascade queued for release: schools, soil cooperatives, then the reservoir reconstruction out west. Once mine. I owned the rights to a river I never visited. Efficient at the time. Obscene in retrospect.
The Council prepared a statement for me. I approved it. Accuracy was always my strength, not truth. Truth requires authorship, but accuracy is where I shined: aligning words with what others needed them to mean.
My sincere hope is that my contribution continues the work of a fairer nation.
The applause outside shifted pitch. My name had reached them.
The attendant finally looked at me. For a moment her expression resembled apology, though tomorrow her dental coverage would exist because of me. Gratitude often searches for unfamiliar shapes.
The producer’s voice echoed over the PA.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
For thirty years I signed documents that moved suffering out of sight. Today I sign one that returns it to scale.
I stepped onto the gold circle.
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