The next morning, Miller Agent sat at Chen's Kitchen, a stack of files on the table. The coffee was cold, but no one touched it.
"Chen's in Las Vegas," Miller said, pushing a photo across the table. It showed a man in a tailored suit, his hair gray at the temples, standing in front of the Bellagio. "He's entered the World Poker Tournament. We think he's using the chips to smuggle cocaine—same as Wolf, but bigger. A ton of it."
Claire flipped through the files. "My dad's notes mention a 'chip factory' outside Las Vegas. He was going to raid it. But he never got the chance."
Sophia leaned forward. "My dad said Chen's men are holding him at that factory. They want the ledger in exchange."
Raymond nodded. "It's a trap. Chen doesn't want the ledger—he wants us. He blames me for splitting up our partnership. He wants to kill me in front of the tournament crowd."
Marcus's jaw tightened. "Then we go to Las Vegas. We give him the ledger, get Sophia's dad back, and take him down."
Miller shook his head. "The FBI can't get a warrant in time. The tournament starts in three days. You'll have to go undercover." He handed Marcus a fake ID—"Marcus Wong, professional poker player"—and a stack of cash. "Buy-in's $10,000. This should cover it."
Claire's phone buzzed. She looked at it, then at Marcus. "I got into NYU Law. They want me to start early—next month."
Marcus's heart sank. New York. Thousands of miles away. "That's amazing," he said, forcing a smile.
Claire nodded, but her eyes were sad. "I'll go to Las Vegas with you. Then… I'll leave for New York."
They spent the next two days training. Raymond taught Marcus "the fly"—a card trick where he could slip a chip from his sleeve to his hand without being seen. "Chen's guys will check you for cards, but not chips," he said. "Use the fake ones—Miller's got them filled with tracking devices."
Claire taught Marcus how to read Chen's tells—"He taps his finger when he's bluffing. My dad wrote that in his notes." She also showed him how to use a small camera hidden in a watch—"To record the smuggling."
Sophia practiced driving the getaway car—an old Chevy Impala Miller had lent them. "I'll wait at the chip factory," she said. "When you get Sophia's dad, bring him to me."
On the night before they left, Marcus and Claire walked to the beach. The ocean was dark, the waves crashing against the shore.
"I'll come visit you in New York," Marcus said, kicking a rock.
Claire smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You better. And Marcus? Be careful. Chen's not like Wolf. He's smarter. Crueler."
Marcus nodded, wrapping his arm around her. "I will. And Claire? I'm sorry about your dad. He'd be proud of you."
Claire's voice was quiet. "He already is."
They stood there for a while, watching the stars. Marcus thought of the tournament, of Chen, of the ledger. He thought of New York, of Claire in her law classes.
The next morning, they packed their bags. Marcus's mom hugged him tight. "Come back," she said, her voice shaking.
"I will," Marcus said.
As they drove to Las Vegas, Marcus looked at Claire. She was flipping through her dad's notebook, her face determined.
Las Vegas was ahead. Chen was waiting.
The final game was about to begin.