In that instant, many pieces clicked into place for Ethan.
After talking with Summer yesterday, he had been puzzled. What kind of "shipment" could be so troublesome, requiring the Lansway bosses to be distracted drinking at The Dynasty and the operation to be completely undetected?
Now, hearing Serena's explanation, it all made perfect sense. If the so-called "shipment" was a part of a person's body, and that person was a major player, then yes, those conditions absolutely fit!
Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Someone's coming," Serena whispered, pushing Ethan back slightly. "I'll find out which credit room you're in. I'll come to you later."
By the time a figure rounded the corner, Ethan was just exiting the restroom, splashing cold water on his face and staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Ethan had always been a thinker. He liked to have situations under his control, a trait born from his life circumstances. Growing up, he'd faced countless troubles, all stemming from his family being seen as an 'easy target'—poor and powerless.
So, controlling the situation and countering was how he navigated trouble.
But today's events had clearly surpassed his expectations. His preconceived notion had led him to believe the "shipment" was an object, something immensely valuable. He'd never imagined it could be a part of someone's body.
Jack 'Two-Finger' Zhao was the owner of this casino, a man with immense influence in the city, even the province. Taking one of his fingers...
Ethan took a deep breath. He knew he had no choice. His mother needed the astronomical cost of the surgery, and the post-operative care would be just as expensive. He needed the money.
Back in the credit room, the manager was waiting, and seated beside him was the beautiful woman, Serena He.
Ethan's eyes lit up, his gaze repeatedly sweeping over Serena's shapely legs.
The manager wasn't surprised at all. The men who came here for markers all had the same look in their eyes. That heated atmosphere often made them sign for even larger amounts.
"Sir, you need a fifty-thousand bridge loan, correct?" Serena handed Ethan a folder. "This is our agreement. Please review it. For a bridge loan, we require collateral, which we must verify. If any falsification is discovered... measures will be taken." She emphasized the last two sentences.
Then, she patted the manager's shoulder and gave him a look, signaling him to follow her.
In the corner, she whispered, "Fifty thousand is too small. Find a way to get him to sign for a larger amount. He's young, probably some rich family's son."
Ethan opened the folder. Inside the contract was a pre-stamped check, the amount line left blank.
By the time the manager and Serena returned, Ethan had discreetfully pocketed the check.
"Sir, my advice," the manager said persuasively, "since you're getting a bridge loan anyway, why not make it a larger one? It's more enjoyable to play with. Otherwise, even playing until midnight, you might not win back what you just lost. Imagine if you get a great hand but don't have the capital to back it up, right?"
The manager poured on the persuasion, using well-rehearsed lines.
"Collateral, huh?" Ethan's eyes settled on Serena. "A check work, beautiful?"
The manager's face brightened.
Serena nodded sweetly. "Of course, sir."
Ethan pulled out the check. "Sweetheart, I know you folks have quotas. I'll help you out. Fill in whatever amount you need."
"Thank you, sir." Serena took the check and, without hesitation, wrote in the amount: One Million.
"Alright, settled." Ethan waved a hand and signed the contract.
The manager was grinning from ear to ear as he escorted Ethan back to the tables.
Soon, a million in chips was delivered to Ethan.
Looking at the stacks before him, Ethan knew the check Serena gave him was definitely fake. Based on what she'd said when presenting the contract, he had to lose all these chips before they verified the check's authenticity.
That was the only way they would take "measures" and bring him to the collections room!
At the table, Ethan initially wondered if he might get lucky and win. If fortune favored him, maybe he wouldn't have to risk his life for his mother's medical bills.
But reality proved him naive. The winner in a casino was never the gambler. So, he went all in, betting big from the start, often wagering twenty or thirty thousand without even looking at his cards. The player across from him thought he was an idiot, there to throw money away.
"Kid, you like betting blind so much?" a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes glared at Ethan. "Dare to play a single hand against me? High card wins! Let's make it a hundred thousand!"
Ethan looked at the man's empty chip tray. "With what?"
"My life!" the man gritted his teeth.
"Funny. How much is your life worth?" someone nearby mocked.
"Sure." Ethan agreed cheerfully, tossing the dealer a thousand-chip tip. "Deal."
As the cards were dealt, Ethan didn't look at his. He stared at the man. "Your life isn't interesting. I'll add another hundred thousand. If I win, you work for me."
"Deal!" The man didn't hesitate. He slowly revealed his cards, his eyes filling with despair as the low values appeared.
"Ah, damn it! Luck's just not with me today!" Ethan casually tossed his cards, face down, into the muck. "Shit!"
He cursed and pushed two hundred thousand in chips toward the stunned man.
The man stared blankly at the chips. He didn't know what Ethan's cards were, and he knew Ethan hadn't seen his either. But from the way Ethan folded without even checking, it was clear he never intended to win.
The man gave Ethan a long look, scooped up the chips, and hurried toward the cashier.
The game continued.
As Ethan's chip stack dwindled to almost nothing, the manager grew happier. Then, someone approached and whispered in his ear. The manager's face shifted instantly from joy to a dark scowl, his eyes locking onto Ethan. He spoke quickly into his walkie-talkie.
He then walked over to Ethan. "Sir, you need to come with me."
"Go to hell," Ethan snapped, feigning irritation. "I'm in the middle of a game!"
The manager directly scooped up Ethan's remaining chips. "You're coming. Understand?"
Ethan put on a show of being pissed off but followed the manager back through the concealed door.
The moment the door closed, two security guards in black suits pinned Ethan's arms behind his back.
The manager shed all his previous obsequiousness. "You little shit! Trying to pull a fast one in our house, huh? Using a fake check? You've got some nerve, asshole!"
He drove his foot hard into Ethan's stomach.
"Take him to the collections room!"