Kate Rosewood counted her coins twice, hoping the number would grow. It did not. Nine copper bits sat in her palm. She wanted to open the finest pleasure house in Blackroot, a place the whole town would whisper about. But nine copper bits could not rent a broom closet, let alone a building. The landlord across the table folded his arms. His office smelled of pipe smoke and old ledgers. "A lease costs thirty silver up front," he said. "You've got nine copper. Come back when you're serious, girl." Kate smiled anyway. She was good at smiling. But her chest felt tight. Three landlords had turned her away this week. Each said the same thing. No money, no lease. Her plan was crumbling before it ever started. The door swung open behind her. A woman strode in without knocking. She wore a red corset and black fishnet stockings, gold flashing at her throat. The landlord's mouth fell open. He forgot the ledger under his hand. "Veronica," Kate said, half relieved, half worried. Veronica had worked for her back when Kate had barely a room to her name. She was the best girl Kate ever hired, and she never arrived quietly. Veronica dropped a heavy pouch on the table. Coins spilled out and rolled. "Savings," she said. "Every coin I earned. You gave me work when nobody else would. I'm not letting some sour old man tell you no." Kate stared at the pile. "Veronica, this is everything you have." "Then it had better buy us something grand." Veronica leaned toward the landlord and let her smile do the rest. "Count it. I think you'll find it's serious enough." The landlord counted with shaking hands. Thirty-two silver. Two over the price. He wiped his brow and reached for a fresh sheet of paper. "The big house on the corner," Kate said quickly. "The tall one with the balconies. I want that one." He hesitated. "That building's been empty two years. Roof leaks. Half the rooms are bare." "I'll take it." Kate pressed her hand flat on the table so it wouldn't shake. "Draw up the lease." He signed. She signed. Veronica signed as witness, grinning the whole time. The landlord handed Kate a heavy iron key. Outside, Kate held the key up to the light. She had a building now. A real one, with her name soon to hang above the door. Her dream had a roof at last, even a leaking one. Then the weight of it settled on her. She had spent every coin Veronica owned. The house sat empty and broken. No beds, no curtains, no girls but the two of them. Guests would not pay to sit on bare floors. Veronica looped an arm through hers. "So, boss. What now?" Kate looked at the key, then at the empty pouch. "Now," she said slowly, "we need money to fix it. And we don't have a single copper left."

The morning after they signed the lease, Kate stood in the empty house and stared at the sagging floor. A board groaned under her boot. The walls had cracks wide enough to slide a hand through. She had a building and no coin to fix it. Guests would laugh at a place like this. "We could sell my earrings," Veronica said. She unhooked one gold drop and weighed it in her palm. "It won't fix the floors. But it's something." Kate shook her head. "You already gave everything. I won't take that too." She pushed open the back door for air and stepped into the tangled yard. Then she stopped. A tree stood against the fence. Its branches sagged, but not with fruit. Coins hung from every twig. Silver and gold caught the sun and shone. Kate blinked twice, sure her tired eyes lied. She reached up and plucked a gold coin. It was real. Heavy. Cold in her hand. "Veronica," she called. Her voice cracked. "Come see this." Veronica came, stopped, and dropped her earring in the dirt. "That's—that's a whole fortune growing on a stick." She grabbed a branch and shook. Coins rained down and rang against the stones. They laughed and scooped them into Veronica's empty pouch until it bulged. "We can fix the floors," Kate said. "The walls. Beds. Curtains. Everything." She spun once, dizzy with it. Her broken house suddenly had a future. A small sound stopped her. By the fence, half hidden, a girl watched them. She was thin, barefoot, and wore scraps of clothing too small for her. Dirt streaked her arms. She was young, too young to be alone, and beautiful under the grime. She stared at the coins with hungry eyes, ready to run. "Wait," Kate said softly. She crouched. "You hungry?" The girl nodded. "I saw the tree three days ago," she whispered. "I was too scared to touch it. I thought someone would catch me." "Nobody's going to catch you." Kate held out a coin. The girl didn't take it. She looked at Kate's face instead, like she wanted something worth more than gold. "Do you need work?" the girl asked. "I'll do anything. I don't have anywhere." Kate looked at Veronica. Veronica shrugged and smiled. "We do have a big empty house to fill." "What's your name?" Kate asked. "Stacy. Stacy Winters." Kate stood and brushed off her dress. "Stacy, you'll eat tonight. And you'll have a roof." She pressed the coin into the girl's hand and folded her fingers over it. By dusk the pouch was full and the plan was clear. Kate had coin now, enough to raise the house from a wreck to a wonder. She had Veronica beside her and a new girl under her roof. The floors would hold. The walls would rise. But a house full of people meant new mouths, new needs, and new eyes watching where such easy gold came from.