Two hours later, the table had completely transformed.
Chen had busted out spectacularly after going all-in three more times with increasingly questionable hands. He'd left laughing, slapping Liam on the shoulder and promising to "get revenge next time."
Angela had cashed out up thirty thousand, citing an early morning meeting. Mr. Rolex had also departed after losing steadily, his expression sour as vinegar.
But nature abhors a vacuum, and in Macau's premier casino, empty seats at a hot table didn't stay empty long.
The new players were a different breed entirely.
Seat one: A rail-thin Chinese man in his sixties named Zhang Wei, whose family apparently owned half the commercial real estate in Hong Kong.
He'd bought in for five million without blinking and played with the cold precision of a surgeon. Every bet was calculated. Every fold was emotionless.
