During The Great Relocation, the wealthiest person of the Old World financed a project; a low orbit modular network of space stations dedicated to housing the rich until the Earth healed from the rampant climate change and desertification upending the billions of lives below. Known as the Bezosphere, the launch pad was situated on the coast a remote northern nation, away from the continents of the New Mojave and All-Gobi deserts and the billions fleeing on foot from the encroaching sand and dust.
At first, those with the means to afford private transport could make the trip to the launch pad and board immediately, meaning the wealthiest individuals and oligarchs of the Old World that owned private yachts and ferries. As launches to the Bezosphere were expensive in material and manpower, launches could only happen every week, meaning those that arrived to the launch pad were put on a waiting list. With a crowded coastline, yachts were brought ashore to become bespoke apartments for the insanely affluent, creating a strange, nautically themed gated community surrounding the command centre of the launch site.
But as nations fell and corporations took over, ocean freight and trade routes were re-established, allowing not only less opulent executives to make the journey, but their entire families and retinues to follow. Because of this, the gated community surrounding the launch site financed an impenetrable wall around the site, creating The Walled Street. Those locked out of The Walled Street went on to build Nazzdack, which quickly spiraled into an island-wide metropolis for New Money and their underlings. Invitations to The Walled Street were based on individual wealth, familial ties, and a vouching system conducted by those already inside. As the decades passed, invitations trickled to almost nothing.
It's rumoured that Old World companies and the decision-makers that ran them would often collaborate for mutual self-interest, fixing prices, lobbying governments, keeping corporate treasuries empty and dodging taxes to accrue maximum personal profit. This is no longer the case, as directors and CEOs fight each other tooth and nail in the hopes of attaining these near mythical invitations off-world. Subterfuge, sabotage, and outright assassination is a daily occurrence in executive circles.
To this day, the waiting list for launches to the Bezosphere is decades long, Invitations to The Walled Street are blue moon events, and any executive that happens to be invited disappears overnight, shuttled away by their retinue to the single lone door in the impenetrable wall of the gated community.