It occurs to me that he’s rubbing off on me.
It also occurs to me that I kind of like it.
As we near the table, I see five players sitting around it. There are a few other spectators sitting further back, far enough away to avoid seeing anyone’s cards.
Two more seats miraculously appear, as close to the action as possible, and Magnus leads me to them.
That’s when one of the players looks up and sees him. He looks like he could be in his mid-fifties, but the doughy face and tell-tale signs of too much drink have aged him. The look of panic on his face is unmistakable.
“Who is that?” I whisper in the hushed atmosphere.
“Edwan Holt. An old friend,” Magnus says, staring right back at him.
I leave that one alone, knowing he won’t expand on that. Instead, I try my best to figure out what’s going on just by looking at the table.
Zach has a sizable number of chips in front of him, more than anyone else. The others seem to have enough to stay in the game. The man who is still casting surreptitious glances toward Magnus, ranging from the worried to the angry, has a pile that is so perfectly neat it looks like he hasn’t even touched it yet.
A man in a suit comes over to lean down toward Magnus. I catch part of what he says in a subdued voice.
“He’s at two-hundred-thousand euros now.”
A smile curls Magnus’s lips, hinting at pleasure of only the most deviant kind. “No limit.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m not quite sure what that means, but I can suss out the fact that it’s related to the man who is still giving Magnus and me glances, seemingly more and more agitated. Is he up by that mount? Down?
I watch the game, trying to figure out the answer. The only thing I see is the man continuing to lose his cool. In fact, he’s the only exciting thing about it so far. I’m sure it’s far more fun to play than watch since most of the other cardholders are about as animated as paint drying.
This man, however, is sweating and seems to be making bets that cause the small crowd of onlookers to whisper in surprised tones. At one point, he curses his frustration, throwing his cards on the table.
It’s during another breakdown that I realize what’s going on. Edwan has stupidly put all his chips in and lost. He’s been doubling-down over and over in the hopes of making one big win to cover his losses, a plan that certainly isn’t working out in his favor. Now, he has a conversation with the dealer, who then has a conversation with the man who whispered in Magnus’s ear. I watch him nod, and eventually, another neat stack of chips is placed in front of the man.
“Another hundred thousand,” the man eventually comes back to whisper in Magnus’s ear. His only response is a small, villainous smile.
Why is Magnus allowing the man to borrow so much? Three-hundred-thousand? It’s insane. Especially considering the abysmal luck the man seems to be having.
It’s almost as though Magnus wants him to fail.
The time crawls by, and I wonder what the heck we’re still doing here. It’s only when the debt is at a million euros that Magnus finally signals we can leave, even though the man playing is becoming more and more interesting to watch. It’s like a train wreck. I feel bad for him, but I also know he’s somehow managed to incur the wrath of Magnus, so perhaps he deserves it?
“You want him to be in debt to you, or at least your hotel.” It comes out as more of a fact than a question.
Magnus simply smiles ahead as he leads me out of the casino to the lobby of the hotel.
“Why?” I press.
We walk for a while before he answers, the smile disappearing from his face. It’s only when we’re back at the elevators that he replies.
“He destroyed my grandfather,” Magnus finally says, turning to look at me. His gaze is scrutinizing, reading me for my reaction.
“So…you really are in all-out warfare mode,” I say thoughtfully.
“I am.”
“I assume there’s a point at which he won’t be able to pay back his loan. Then what?”
“Then, his legacy becomes mine, and he has nothing, which is exactly what he left my grandfather with. He’s just lucky I don’t go so far as to want to see him in jail.”
I’m guessing there’s a story there, but the elevator arrives, and I walk in ahead of Magnus. We both stare ahead as the doors close, and the car begins to rise.
“Does it bother you? My being this ruthlessly cutthroat?”
“At least it’s not literal in this case.”
He chuckles softly.
“What happens if he starts winning again?”
“He won’t.”
“Is the game rigged?” I ask in surprise.
He turns to face me with an amused smile. “Do you know what a cooler is?”
“I’ve heard the term, but I suspect my version is slightly different from yours.”
The smile remains. “Someone who, for all intents and purposes, brings bad luck. We were there to throw Edwan Holt off his game—a game he was already losing, thanks to Zach’s expertise.”
“I didn’t take you as one to be so superstitious.”
“I’m not. But poker players have a tendency to be. For example, Edwan.”
Based on what I saw, Magnus seems to have a point. On the other hand, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t play like shit if I had Magnus Reinhardt focusing that hard gaze on me all night.
“Have you ever thought about just…letting go?”
“I’ll let go when I’m done.”
Something in his voice sends a shiver through me, and I turn to look at him in profile. I’m reminded why his nickname is the Shark. I can see the intense focus and determination in his gaze even as he
