In the real world, you own the Nostromo. God knows you don't want it anymore: more cubic feet than you can care for, someone else talked you into buying it in the first place, and you keep seeing facehuggers out of the corner of your eye.
But you wake on one of the core worlds to find that The Corporation's shipyards have been overproducing interstellar craft. The builders are starting to default on their subprime loans, and the entire financial system is a moon-sized ball of dung hurtling towards a planet-sized fan.
So you quickly replace the deck plates that were damaged by the acid, price it aggressively, and hope the buyers don't notice egg sacs under the mist during the walk-through.
When you close on the sale, it's over.
That is what I have done today. W00t!
Edit: And, just to keep me on edge, a last-minute miscommunication has pushed the closing back to Tuesday morning. I'm popping a cork anyway.