Ian crushed out his cigarette and clapped his hands together.

"The NWA Soccer League game is on at 10:00 pm, the Maran Leopards versus Brondale United," he declared with a grin. "Check the odds. Brondale United is giving half a goal. I'm betting on Brondale United."

One of his lackeys checked the stats online and immediately started laughing. "Ian's got this in the bag. Brondale United is giving half a goal? That's basically free money."

"Do you even know how to read the odds, Craig? Do you know what giving half a goal means? Don't end up losing the shirt off your back before being forced to lick Ian's shoes."

Ian leaned back in his chair and let out a puff of smoke.

"That's enough," he said lazily. "Let him study the odds all he wants."

The arrogant look in his eyes made it clear he was certain he'd win, and I knew why. It was the same hustle I'd pulled ten years ago, the oldest trick in the book.

He had a satellite signal jammer, which let him intercept the match feed and receive it in advance. That tiny advantage was enough for him to place his bets before the odds shifted.

I knew that most of the money he earned in recent years, including the money he used to buy that Bentley, came from shady dealings.

I'd previously sent three bookmakers to prison for using the same tricks. Ian was basically delivering himself up to me on a silver platter.

Glancing at him, I said, "Sure. I'll bet on the Maran Leopards winning the game."

Ian's lackeys jeered once more.

"Hahaha! The Maran Leopards' front line is entirely made up of second-rate foreigners, while their defense is about as strong as a piece of paper! I guess you don't watch soccer at all, huh?"

"Are you even trying to win, Craig? Don't tell me you've already given up on life and have decided to jump off the building later."

I grabbed my phone. "I'm going to the restroom."

Ian snorted. "What's the matter? Are you so scared that you're about to piss your pants?"

I ignored him.

In the restroom, I logged in to an email account I hadn't used in three years and got in touch with Hugo Adams. Back when I was running the scene in Northwest Aravia, he'd been my most reliable right-hand man.

I typed, "Hugo, I need you to set things up for me—same old rules, the 10:00 pm match between the Maran Leopards and Brondale United."

Hugo replied almost instantly, his excitement palpable even through the words on my screen. "Boss! You're back?"

I told him to dig into the setup behind the match. I needed the source of Ian's feed for the game.

One of the bookmakers had slipped through my fingers back then. I hadn't forgotten about that. Perhaps Ian's attempt to taunt me would end up allowing me to kill two birds with one stone.

After exiting the restroom stall, I looked into the mirror and straightened my collar. The man staring back at me had a completely expressionless face.

Five years ago, on the night I quit for good, I sat on the edge of Nevean Harbor until the sun rose. As morning broke, I told myself I would never gamble again.

Alas, someone had insisted on dragging me back into the game.

When I went back inside the private room, Ian let out a guffaw and called out, "What happened to you, Craig? Did you fall into the toilet bowl? Or are you so terrified that you had to puke your guts out?"

He raised his hand and snapped the hair tie on his wrist. Nina shot me a mocking glance before resting her head against his shoulder. He proceeded to plant his hand on her fair thigh, rubbing her skin as he continued to eye me tauntingly.

"You'd better feast your eyes on this while you still can, Craig. My, my. This feels so good. Sadly for you, you won't get to feel this again."

Ian chortled before squeezing Nina's waist. She squealed coyly in protest and gave him a light punch, never once looking my way.

At exactly 10:00 pm, the match kicked off. 15 minutes in, the two teams were in a deadlock.

While the ball remained in Brondale United's possession most of the time, the Maran Leopards did a good job on defense, never letting the other team pass. The referee's whistle kept ringing, but no goals were scored.

While watching the screen, Ian toyed with his lighter, occasionally checking his phone with an unruffled expression.

My phone buzzed.

"I found it, boss. Ian's signal is coming from someone who goes by Krell. He went quiet for a while, but he resurfaced on the scene two years ago."

After reading the message, I chuckled. As expected, it was him, alright.

Hugo sent another message. "Want me to fix the signal? In just three seconds, I can turn his live feed into a recording with a five-minute delay."

"No need," I replied.

Since I was going to make Ian pay for this, I was going to take him for everything he had.

After telling Hugo I was certain that the Maran Leopards had been bribed, I had him reach out to the players on that team.

I also had him pass along a message to Felix Jennings, the forward striker for Brondale United. If Felix dared to lead Brondale United to victory, he could forget about keeping his legs.

30 minutes into the match, Brondale United abruptly launched a counterattack. Felix managed to pull off the perfect fake, pushing past the Maran Leopards' defenders to launch a volley from mid-air.

"Goal! It's a goal!"

The atmosphere in the room instantly erupted, with Ian's lackeys waving their beer bottles around as they hollered in excitement.

"Ian's a god! You're screwed now, Craig!"

"Get ready to fall on your knees and lick Ian's shoes! Hahaha!"

I smirked and said nothing.

At the 53rd minute, Brondale United scored again. Ian's grin grew even cockier as he grabbed the keys to the Bentley from the table and spun them on his fingertip.

"See that, Craig? This is what you call real strength. Tell you what, as long as the Maran Leopards score a single goal, I'll let you hold the keys in your hands for just a minute. And if they score two goals, I'll let you take the car out for a spin."

I glanced at him. "The match isn't over yet."

Snorting, Ian cocked his head and eyed me. "Suit yourself. I love seeing you try to act tough when you've got nothing to stand on, Craig. Why don't we raise the stakes even more, huh? Got the guts to do it?"

Without even looking at him, I asked, "How do you want to raise them?"

One of Ian's lackeys sneered. "How is he going to raise the stakes? What does he even have besides the five grand you gave him? His life?"

With a malicious grin, Ian remarked, "He's got that shabby shoebox apartment, doesn't he? The one his parents left to him. Even though it's in a crappy part of town, it's still worth a few hundred grand.

"I've got a massive riverfront villa in the city myself. Why don't you use that rundown apartment of yours to bet against my villa, Craig?"

The room went dead silent, and Nina finally looked at me. "Stop embarrassing yourself, Craig. If you lose that apartment, you'll be forced to sleep on the streets. You were born poor, and you're going to die poor. Stop fantasizing about somehow making it rich."

I looked at Nina before glancing at Ian's smug expression. Chuckling, I replied, "Sure. I'm in."

There was no reason for me to turn down free money.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a black debit card. "Since we're raising the stakes, Ian, it's no fun if we're only going to bet on the houses. This is my debit card. I've got 30 million dollars in that account."

That was the money I made from the Northwest Aravian betting circuit. I never touched any of it.

After a few seconds of silence, a manic laughter exploded from every corner of the room.

Ian laughed so hard that he even teared up. "30 million dollars? Did someone drop a box on your head when you were working in the warehouse, Craig? What, you bought a phony debit card so that you could act like a big shot? If you really have 30 million dollars, I'll eat this table!"

His lackeys roared with laughter. "You don't have to pay tax on the money you pretend to have, so why not add a zero or two? Make it 300 million dollars!"

Smirking, I pulled up the bank application on my phone and raised it up in front of them. "I've got the money. If you don't believe me, see for yourself."

Ian narrowed his eyes and leaned in. His smile froze.

One of his lackeys huddled over. "Well, Ian? How much does he have? 500 dollars? Or 5,000 dollars?"

Ian didn't answer, so another guy leaned in close and studied the screen. "Ten, hundred, thousand… What the hell? He actually has 30 million dollars?"

They all came crowding around me at once. Even Nina lifted her head once more and stared at me in disbelief.

Ian's expression shifted several times before he suddenly laughed.

"That must be a fake app that lets you display whatever number you put in, right, Craig? 30 million dollars, you say? Why would you bother working for me, slaving away in the warehouse all day if you really had that kind of money?"

"Believe whatever you want," I replied with a smile.

With a few knowing nods, Ian lit up another cigarette and declared, "So be it. Guess you think you haven't made enough of a fool of yourself and insist on embarrassing yourself even further. Well, as your buddy, I'll just have to play along with you."

He pulled out his wallet and tossed a debit card onto the table as well.

"I've got three million dollars in this account. I'll use it to match that fake debit card of yours. Since you're dying to act like a big shot, I won't burst your bubble. If you win, I'll give you this card, too. Deal?"

Before I could answer, Nina protested, "Ian! Didn't you say you'd use the money to buy me a house? How can you gamble it away like that?"

Ian patted her hand. "Don't be silly, Nina. Do you really think he has that kind of money? Besides, Brondale United is winning 2-0 right now. Do you think he can win? I'll be getting his dump of an apartment for free while stomping him into the ground for good."

He pushed the card to the center of the table. "Come on, Craig. You in or not?"

Chuckling lightly, I pushed my card to the center as well. "You're on."