Ravi
Seven days was all it took to reel him in and get him hooked on the tables. He came every night, walked out with a fat stack of cash, but had clearly blown through every cent. He hadn't invested a dime—if he kept coming back, it was because he couldn't make the money last.
As always, I watched from behind the one-way glass of my office until he showed up, but tonight I was going to see him lose up close. The second he walked in, I headed down to the poker table and took a seat on a stool, waiting for him. It didn't take long before he walked over and sat across from me.
The cards were dealt. I lifted my head and studied his face. He gave a slight smile—which meant he had a good hand. But there's one thing everyone needs to understand: the house's hand is always the best. That's why the house always wins.
"I want to raise." He placed five black chips on the table.
"Fine. I'll double." I set down two purple chips, worth twice his bet. "Going up or folding?"
"I'm not the kind of man who folds." He laid his cards face-up on the table, grinning like he could already taste victory. "Full house. Kings over queens."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd around us. It was a strong hand.
"Nice." I pushed my chair back slightly. "But not nice enough."
I turned my cards over slowly onto the green felt, and his smile died inch by inch. He didn't say a word—just stared in silence at my four aces gleaming on the table.
He looked at the pile of chips in the center, and I waited for him to do something stupid. But the guy sat completely still. I don't think he'd expected to lose tonight. After letting him stare at everything he'd just lost, I leaned forward and raked in the chips, pulling the whole stack toward me.
"You should have folded." The dealer pushed the mountain of chips my way, and just like that, the casino owner proved the simplest rule there was: the house never loses.
"I want a rematch."
I smiled and placed two purple chips in the center. He put his in too, and the game started over.
* * *
He stormed out of the casino furious, having lost every single hand. Worse—he'd gone into debt with me, borrowing money with the promise that he'd pay me back when he won. But the more he played, the deeper he sank.
I left the table with a partial victory, because I knew he'd be back tomorrow trying to win it all back, and I'd drag him down even further.
"Don, that was brutal. He's going to have to sell something from his house to pay you."
"Then let him sell. I gave him every chance to walk away, but he kept insisting on another hand. Tomorrow you're playing him, not me, and you're going to do the exact same thing. I want him owing me down to his soul."
"Okay, but what are you after? Did he do something to you?"
"Yeah. He walked into something that wasn't his. Now I need to get him out of my way, but I don't want his blood on my hands—I want him to hand over what belongs to me all on his own. Now get going, there's still work to do. Enough chit-chat." He left, and I sat at the table with a smile on my face, knowing I'd soon have exactly what I wanted.
* * *
Three days later, Jorge Sales owed me everything short of his own skin, and it was time to collect. He still hadn't figured out that he was never going to win again, and yet he showed up every night trying to claw something back. He'd lost at the poker table, at blackjack, and even at the slot machines. I walked over to the poker table, where he was standing next to a player, and looked him square in the eye.
"I don't have money to play. Can you lend me a little more?"
"Again?" I gave him a humorless smile. "You already owe me five hundred thousand dollars in loans and you have no way to pay. I pulled your file—you barely make a thousand a month. How exactly do you plan to settle this debt?" His eyes went wide and then darted around the room, clearly panicked. "That's right—I own this place, and I want my money."
"I... I'll sell my house and bring you the money..."
"Your house is worth two hundred and fifty thousand, tops. You'd still owe me half. How do you plan to cover the rest?" He went white. Completely blank. "Come up to my office. I'll give you some options."
I called two guards to come with us and we headed to my office. I had him sit down, poured myself a glass of whiskey, and settled into my chair, watching his every move.
"What do you want?" he asked, visibly terrified. I could see his hands shaking.
"You have three choices. First: you work for me for free, right here in the casino, no breaks for anything. Three hours a day to sleep, max. Nothing else. For ten years—after all, it's five hundred thousand dollars, and the debt's still accruing interest for non-payment. Second: I take you to an organ-harvesting clinic and sell everything useful inside you until the debt's paid off. Or..." I paused, smiled at him, and took a sip of whiskey.
"Or what? What's the third option?"
"Your beautiful wife." His eyes went wide and he shook his head immediately. "I want you to hand her over to me and file for divorce. Lorena Sales will be mine—forever. In exchange, I wipe your debt clean. I'll even throw in a million dollars so you can start a new life wherever you want."
"How do you know my wife?"
"Like I said, I looked into your life and saw some photos of her. She caught my eye." I swirled the whiskey in the glass. "You don't think she's worth a million and a half?"
He dropped his head, completely frozen. But no matter which option he chose, I'd get Lorena. Him delivering her to me personally would just make it sweeter.
"So—you're not leaving here tonight without an answer. If you pick option three, you go home with two of my guards, and they'll bring her back here with you. If you pick option one, you start working tonight. And if you pick option two..." I gave a small smile. "You go straight to the clinic." I leaned forward and rested my arms on the desk. "What's it going to be, Mr. Sales?"
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