The Los Angeles Community College campus smelled like freshly cut grass and coffee. Marcus sat in his Intro to Accounting class, his notebook open to a page of spreadsheets—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text from his mom: "A man followed me to the restaurant. He said 'tell Marcus Viktor's waiting.'"
Marcus's pen froze. Viktor—Claire had found the name in her dad's notes two nights ago. Chen's cousin, the man who'd run Chen's European smuggling ring. The anonymous email's "partner."
He excused himself from class, stepping into the hallway. He called his mom first, his voice tight. "Did he hurt you? Do you need to go to the police?"
"I'm fine, Marcus," she said, her voice shaking. "He just stood outside the window. Held up a photo of you. Said if you don't go to his poker game in Manhattan next Friday, he'll 'visit' the restaurant again."
Marcus closed his eyes. Viktor was using his mom as leverage—just like Chen had. He hung up, then called Claire.
She picked up on the second ring, the sound of a library in the background. "Hey—how's accounting?"
"It's fine," Marcus said, leaning against a locker. "Viktor contacted me. Followed my mom to the restaurant. Wants me at his game next Friday."
Silence on the other end. Then: "I'll help. I found more in my dad's notes—Viktor's a control freak. He marks his cards with tiny ink dots. Under UV light. And his tell—he 摸 s his earlobe when he's bluffing."
Marcus smiled, even though his chest felt tight. "You're amazing. How's NYU?"
"Busy. But I've been digging into FBI files—Viktor's got a rap sheet for arson. He burned down a warehouse in Chicago five years ago, framing an FBI agent. Miller knows about it."
Marcus nodded. "I need to go. Sophia's meeting me after class to check Viktor's game location."
"Be careful," Claire said. "And Marcus? I'll take the train to Manhattan next Friday. I don't want you going alone."
Marcus's throat tightened. "You don't have to. Classes—"
"Classes can wait. You're more important."
He hung up, his phone warm in his hand. He thought of Claire in her NYU sweatshirt, buried in law books, yet still making time to help him. Of his mom, brave but scared. Of Viktor, waiting in Manhattan.
After class, Sophia met him at a taco truck near campus. She was wearing a "Criminal Justice Club" hoodie, a laptop open on her lap.
"Found the game location," she said, pushing the laptop toward him. "A former theater in the East Village—'The Rialto.' Closed for years. Viktor's converted it into an underground casino. Miller's men can't get a warrant—no proof of illegal activity yet."
Marcus looked at the photos: the theater's marquee covered in tarps, a side door with a bouncer in a black jacket. "How'd you find this?"
Sophia grinned, tapping her laptop. "Hacked Viktor's old social media. Found a post from three months ago—he tagged the theater. Said 'new project.'"
Marcus nodded, pulling out his phone. He texted Raymond: "Viktor's game is at The Rialto in NYC. Need cheating techniques tips."
Raymond replied seconds later: "Use the 'sleeve chip' trick. I'll send a video. And wear a watch with a UV light—Viktor marks his cards."
That night, Marcus practiced the sleeve trick in his bedroom. He slid a fake chip (rigged with a GPS tracker) up his sleeve, using a rubber band to hold it in place. Raymond's video played on his phone: "Keep your elbow tight. Don't let the bouncers see the movement."
His mom knocked on the door, bringing him a bowl of dumplings. "You're quiet lately," she said, sitting on his bed. "Is it that man—Viktor?"
Marcus nodded. "I'm gonna stop him, Mom. I promise."
She hugged him. "I know you will. Just… come back."
Later, he facetimed Claire. She was in her dorm room, her dad's notebook open beside her. "I found Viktor's boss," she said, pointing to a name: "Ivan Petrov. Russian mob. He's funding Viktor's game. Wants to expand into LA."
Marcus's jaw tightened. LA—his mom's restaurant. "I need to end this. Before he comes here."
Claire nodded, her face soft. "You will. And I'll be there with you."
He ended the call, looking at the photo of The Rialto on his laptop. Viktor was waiting. But this time, Marcus wasn't alone.
He had Claire. Sophia. Raymond.
And he was ready.