Nico's last act was practical. Clinical. Necessary. 'Transfer all remaining funds to the Cooperative Development Fund. Not to individuals. To the network. Let them decide democratically how to use it.' The accountant processed it: 380,000 credits. Everything left. Distributed across fifteen cooperatives with strict democratic governance protocols. No single person controlled it. No king. Just collective power. 'You're making yourself completely unnecessary,' Maya observed. 'That's the point. This has to survive without me. Has to be bigger than me. This proves it is.' The transfer completed. Nico Chen was broke. Officially. Completely. Everything he'd found eight years ago, now returned to the people. Not as charity. As power. As possibility. As proof that collective organization beats individual benevolence. He'd started with fifty million credits and a dream of escape. Ended with nothing and a movement that might actually change things. Not a bad trade. Not bad at all.