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He knew me well. Baccarat was my game because the game favored neither the house nor the player. The odds were almost fifty-fifty. That’s why I liked it. It was a safe, simple game, and I won more than I’d lost. I gambled with my father’s money, but the two million was pure profit and all mine.
“No, this time we’d like to play Black Jack,” Piper chimed in.
“Of course,” the concierge complied, leading us in the direction of the tables.
“Black Jack?” I asked her.
“Yes, Black Jack is much more fun.”
I didn’t respond. My head was pounding so furiously, I just went along with it. Just play a few hands and get gone, I told myself.
Nothing. There was nothing below. She hadn’t jumped.
I staggered back into the villa and shut the balcony door, locking it behind me before dragging my feet to the sofa and falling on top. My face hung near the edge, forcing me to acknowledge the mess, the chaos, around me.
I watched a still bottle of Jack underneath a shattered glass coffee table. It had maybe an ounce of liquor left inside and it sat, the perfect gold liquid inside its clear glass coffin, waiting for its fate, waiting to be consumed or discarded...much like myself.
I was so tired of nights like those. So tired of fearing the unknown, of discovering near-death experiences, exposing myself to dangerous things I wouldn’t remember until it was usually too late. That night may seem out of the ordinary, but not for me. Not for Spencer Blackwell. That was fairly typical for me. That was my life or, very likely I knew, soon to be the end of it.
“Just get your cash, send it to Switzerland and call it what it is.” I turned and laid on my back. “Get out now, while you still can. Run.”
I ran up the stairs, dressed and grabbed my bag before heading to the lobby to check out, but first I needed to cash out. I visited the new concierge, a woman this time, someone I’d seen before but couldn’t remember her name.
“Good morning, Mister Blackwell,” she greeted cheerfully, her hair clean and kept, her teeth bright and white.
“Good morning,” I told her, my voice rough. I looked down at myself, fully aware that despite my designer digs, I looked as to be expected.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to cash out, please.”
“Not keeping your balance here?” she asked.
“No, I’ve decided to take a-a breather for a bit.”
“Just a moment,” she said, secreting to some area in the back.
I leaned against the counter, ready to beg loudly for her to return quickly that I was in so much pain.
She returned a minute or two later but it felt like an eternity.
“Mister Blackwell, it appears you don’t have a profit balance.”
My mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”
She peered at a computer screen in front of her. “Yes, it seems you lost your balance. There’s actually a settlement owed of five million seven hundred thousand.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “That cannot be,” I insisted, bracing my head in my hands. I didn’t think it could take much more pressure. “Okay, uh,” I breathed. “Charge it to my father’s account,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said.
When he found out, he would remove my signing privileges.
“Thank you,” I muttered before heading toward the lobby and sitting down in the nearest chair to catch my breath.
I lost it all. I was relying on that two million to fund part my freedom. Now, I knew I was going to have to live another year under my dad’s thumb to make it up.
The very thought made me want to wretch. So I did. All over the expensive marble floor.
