Two years ago...

The casino floor glowed beneath gold lights and cigarette smoke.

Cards slapped against green felt tables. Chips clicked together in nervous hands. Somewhere deeper in the hall, a woman laughed too loudly while a jazz band played over hidden speakers. Waitresses in black dresses moved through the crowd carrying expensive liquor most people there could barely afford.

Frank sat at the poker table with his sleeves rolled halfway up and a cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stayed on the cards.

The dealer glanced around the table.

"Place your bets, gentlemen."

Chips slid forward.

A fat man across from Frank smirked as he pushed a stack into the center. "You should fold this one, Frankie."

Frank ignored him.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette and looked at his remaining chips.

Not much left.

Hell... story of my life.

"Call," another player said.

The dealer turned toward Frank.

"And you, sir?"

Frank stared at the pile in front of him for a second longer before suddenly shoving everything forward.

"All in."

A few people around the table looked up immediately.

The fat man laughed. "You serious?"

Frank leaned back in his chair. "What can I say? I like living dangerously."

The dealer nodded calmly.

"Very well. Cards on the table."

The cards flipped one after another.

For a second Frank thought he had it.

Then the fat man revealed his hand.

The table erupted.

"Full house!"

"Damn!"

Frank’s smile disappeared slowly.

The dealer began pulling the chips away from him.

"Better luck next time, sir."

Frank stared at the empty space in front of him.

Gone.

Every single damn chip.

The fat man chuckled while gathering his winnings. "Told you to fold."

Frank rubbed a hand over his face.

"Yeah... thanks for the advice."

Two large men in black suits suddenly appeared behind him.

Frank didn’t even need to look up.

Shit.

"Mr. Frank."

"One more round," Frank said quickly, turning toward them. "Come on, man. Just one more chance."

"Your credit here is finished."

"I can win it back."

"You’ve been saying that all night."

One of the men grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up from the chair.

"Hey—easy!"

The second man took the cigarette from Frank’s mouth and crushed it into an ashtray.

"That’s enough for tonight."

A few gamblers nearby laughed quietly as Frank was dragged across the casino floor.

"Come on," Frank snapped. "At least let me walk myself out."

The doors opened.

Cold night air hit him immediately.

Then they shoved him forward.

Frank stumbled down the casino steps and nearly lost his balance before catching himself.

The doors slammed shut behind him.

For a few seconds he just stood there breathing heavily while the bright neon lights from the casino flickered across his face.

Then he dusted off his wrinkled suit jacket.

"Wonderful night," he muttered.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit another cigarette.

The flame briefly illuminated the exhaustion in his eyes.

He looked terrible.

Tie loose.

Sleeves creased.

Dark circles beneath his eyes.

A man barely holding himself together.

Frank took a drag and started walking home.

His apartment sat in one of the older parts of Harrington where the buildings looked tired even during the daytime.

The hallway smelled like old paint and cheap alcohol.

Frank unlocked his door and stepped inside.

The place was small.

Very small.

A couch with torn fabric sat facing an old television. Empty beer cans littered the floor near a tiny table buried beneath unpaid bills and betting slips. Clothes hung over chairs instead of being folded properly.

The ceiling fan creaked with every rotation.

Frank shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes carelessly.

His stomach growled.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

He walked toward the fridge and opened it.

Empty.

Well... almost empty.

One can of beer.

A carton of milk that looked expired

That was it.

Frank stared into the fridge for a long moment before grabbing the beer.

"Dinner of champions."

He shut the fridge with his foot and dropped onto the couch.

The springs groaned beneath him.

The television flickered on after two hard smacks to the side.

Late-night commercials filled the room with noise while Frank opened the beer and took a long drink.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the table.

Frank frowned.

Unknown Number.

He opened the message.

Tomorrow. Noon. Grand Tower.

Do not screw this up.

Frank stared at the text.

No name.

No explanation.

Just that.

He leaned back slowly.

"Sounds ominous."

Still... mysterious jobs usually meant money.

And right now money sounded very beautiful.

Frank tossed the phone aside and drank the rest of the beer in silence.

The next day, Frank stood in front of Grand Tower.

The building rose high above the rest of Harrington like a steel monument.

Its shape curved upward strangely instead of following the normal square structure most skyscrapers used. The frame crossed over itself in metallic patterns, almost resembling the Eiffel Tower if someone had turned it into a luxury high-rise.

Glass reflected sunlight across the streets below.

Rich people really do love showing off.

Frank adjusted the collar of his only decent suit.

It was teal blue once.

Now it just looked tired.

He had spent nearly thirty minutes ironing it that morning anyway.

The lobby alone looked more expensive than his entire apartment building.

3D floors.

Crystal lights.

A fountain flowing quietly near the center.

People in designer clothes moved through the building carrying briefcases and talking about deals probably worth more money than Frank had ever seen in his life.

He approached the hostess stand near the elevator.

The woman there smiled politely.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Table nine?" Frank asked.

She checked something quickly before pointing toward the restaurant deeper inside the top floor.

"Right that way."

Frank nodded and walked forward.

The restaurant overlooked the entire city.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the walls while soft piano music played in the background. Wealthy guests spoke quietly over expensive wine and meals Frank couldn’t even pronounce.

Then he saw her.

Red hair.

Elegant posture.

A black dress that hugged her figure perfectly without trying too hard.

Gold earrings caught the light whenever she moved her head slightly.

She looked young.

Too young to belong in a place like this.

Yet somehow the entire room still felt smaller around her.

Frank approached carefully.

"Miss Ishigami?" he asked.

The woman looked up from her drink.

Sharp.

Calm.

Beautiful.

"Please," she said smoothly, "call me Raina."

Frank pulled out the chair across from her.

"Right."

"Sit."

He sat.

A waiter immediately appeared beside them.

"Would you like anything, sir?"

Frank glanced at the menu and nearly choked internally at the prices.

"Water’s fine."

The waiter nodded and left.

Raina studied him quietly for a moment.

Frank noticed her eyes first.

Cold.

Not emotionless.

Just... controlled.

Like she measured everything before reacting.

"I’ve heard a lot about you, Frank," she said.

"That good or bad?"

"That depends on perspective."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"I heard you’re a man who gets jobs done."

Frank leaned back slightly.

"Definitely."

"Good."

She folded her hands neatly on the table.

"Because I’ll be counting on you."

Something about the way she said it made the air feel heavier.

Frank suddenly understood this wasn’t some random business meeting.

This was the kind of moment that changed lives.

And judging by the look in her eyes...

Probably not for the better.

But what the hell...