Chapter 25
DOMINIC
“Ok, I definitely wasn’t ready for this,” Phoebe says.
We’re parked across the street from the Jade Dragon; an upscale Chinese restaurant nestled between two major Asian retailers on Broadway.
It’s late at night, so there shouldn’t be any customers left at this hour, yet the place seems to be bustling judging by the lights and the music reverberating from inside.
“Staking out a restaurant where my mother is supposedly gambling is not something I had on my bingo card for the week,” she mumbles. “Though I didn’t exactly have several other equally shocking discoveries on it, either.”
“You’ve had quite the week, I know.”
“You don’t know all of it. Not really.” She chuckles dryly as she pulls her honey blonde hair into a tight bun at the top of her head. “Alright. What’s the plan?”
“We need to get in without being noticed. Act like we’re supposed to be there. Theo managed to pull some strings and found us a couple of names to use from the Jade Dragon’s tournament guest list,” I explain. “It’s game over if the actual couple shows up, though, and we’re still in there.”
Bouncers dressed in black patrol the street, particularly the doors along the side alley, where the higher-level players go for their exclusive access. They’re big. I might be able to hold my own against a few of them, but not all of them, if they decide to get physical.
“All we have to do is get in there and confirm my mom’s involvement, right?” Phoebe asks. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“If you want to sit this one out, I’m more than happy to go in alone.”
“No. I need to see for myself,” she replies. “Maybe even look her in the eyes. Perhaps it’ll be enough to stop her from coming after me.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I say it but I doubt it’s true. Helen is cold and calculated, ready to leave her own daughter destitute in order to save her ass and her reputation.
It reeks of desperation, too, which makes me think she’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants.
It just breaks my heart, seeing how low she’s willing to go to burn her daughter and save herself.
Clearly, not all women are meant to be mothers.
“Follow my lead,” I tell Phoebe as we get out of the car.
“How do I look?” she asks.
I measure her from head to toe, taking in every curve and soft line of her beautiful body.
The lilac pants accentuate her hips and long legs, while the white satin shirt elegantly hugs her breasts.
I reach up and remove the scrunchie from her hair.
She runs her fingers through to give it a loose flow over one shoulder.
“Absolutely perfect,” I tell her. “You’re going to make it hard for me to focus while we’re in there, but I will do my best, I promise.”
Phoebe laughs lightly. “Dom, you’re too kind.”
“No, baby, I’m honest,” I reply and pull her into a kiss.
I press my mouth hard against hers, with meaning and intention. Her breath vanishes and her plump lips part as she takes a step back. She hooks her arm through mine and confidently accompanies me across the street.
“Penny’s got a top-notch personal assistant,” I mutter as I take out two fake driver’s licenses with our borrowed names on them. “I’ve never seen anyone work such wonders with a graphic design program and a handful of office devices.”
“I know, right?” Phoebe chuckles as she looks at hers.
We reach the front door of the Jade Dragon, where two burly gentlemen wait. Immediately, they give me a hard look, then scan Phoebe from top to bottom in a manner that makes my blood boil. Instinctively, I square my shoulders and return the look with a glare of my own.
“John and Sandy Newsom,” I say, flashing our fake IDs. “We’re on the list for tonight’s tournament.”
The man looks at the ID’s and cross references them with the list, giving a decisive nod. “Good luck, sir.”
“Thank you,” I offer a flat smile as they open the doors for us.
Phoebe and I step inside the main lobby and check in with the hostess.
“Good evening,” she greets us, checking our names again against another printed list. “Mr. and Mrs. Newsom. Welcome. We haven’t had you on the Golden Goose tournament rosters for a while. I hope you’re both well.”
“Had some trouble with the SEC last year,” I casually reply. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“We just had to be careful with our liquidity,” Phoebe chimes in, elegantly sure of herself. “But we’re back now and ready to roll.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the hostess replies.
It quickly becomes obvious that while they do not keep visual records of all of their players, the organizers do take note of the playing frequency.
“You’ll be playing in room three, Mr. Newsom.
It’s the third door to your right, down the hallway.
A colleague will be there to escort you both to your table. ”
We walk into room three like we own the place. It’s filled with Hold ’Em tables—twenty-five in total—each seating between five and ten players.
Music plays in the background while waiters move around the room serving booze and fancy finger-foods.
Dealers in black and gold tunics shuffle cards and turn rivers, while a kaleidoscope of players try to beat each other in a game that’s all about strategy, and if you’re sharp enough, counting cards if bluffing doesn’t get you far.
We change cash for chips at a specially arranged booth before another hostess takes us to an available table. There are plenty of seats still open, which tells me plenty of other players haven’t arrived, including the real Mr. and Mrs. Newsom.
“Do you see her?” Phoebe whispers, craning her neck as she looks around.
I spot Helen at a table close to the far-east corner of the room. “Yes. Excuse me,” I tell the hostess, “can you seat us over there?” I point at a table that keeps me out of Helen’s direct line of sight. “I’m very superstitious when it comes to cards.”
“Of course.”
We take our seats next to three other players. The dealer, a young man in his early twenties, gives me a polite nod as he shuffles a fresh deck of cards.
“Welcome to the Golden Goose Tournament.”
“Glad to be here,” I reply, keeping a discreet eye on Helen.
I may be out of her sight, but she’s not out of mine. Phoebe follows my gaze, and I hear the devastated sigh escape from her throat when she recognizes her mother.
“Dammit,” Phoebe whispers.
“You said you wanted to see for yourself,” I mutter.
“It still stings.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What do we do now?” she asks, her voice low.
I give her a reassuring smile, then place my buy-in chips on the table, joining the other three players. “I’m going to work a few hands, and you’re going to keep an eye on Mommy Dearest. From the looks of it, she’s got quite a few pennies to burn tonight.”
“Likely company money,” she mumbles.
“We won’t know for sure until we have access to her personal finances.”
As the dealer hands out our cards, I notice a glimmer in Phoebe’s eyes. The game is relatively easy when I don’t care whether I win or lose.
“I actually asked Maggie to help me with that,” Phoebe says. “She’s always been good to me. Kind. Protective.”
“Do you think you can trust her?” I ask.
“I hope so. She offered, in fact. She’s got access, given the work she does around the house,” Phoebe explains. “Mom gets printed statements and I know she keeps them somewhere in her office.”
“It wouldn’t be that hard for Maggie to gain access to them, then.”
“Not entirely legal, either.”
“Not at all.”
“She could get fired,” she says, lowering her gaze. “I hate that it has come to this.”
I look at Helen. She’s losing big and not happy about it. Another player just cleaned her out of fifty grand. She doesn’t have that many chips left, and as she takes out a checkbook from her purse, I notice the Baldwin Enterprises logo on the cover, easily distinguishable from this distance.
“Ah, I knew it,” I mutter.
“What is it?”
“It’s definitely company money, and she’s not even being shy about it,” I say.
Helen hands the signed check to one of the hostesses, who then returns with a tray of fresh poker chips for her to play with. Phoebe witnesses all of it, and I swear I can feel her heart breaking all over again.
“I could notify the police,” I tell her.
“Oh, God,” Phoebe sighs. “It really has come to this, hasn’t it?”
“It’s out in plain view. They’ll trace the withdrawal once it goes through,” I reply.
Suddenly, the door bursts wide open, a flood of heavily armed federal agents rushing in.
“Everybody, put your hands up and step away from the tables!” one of them shouts, holding up an official document. “This is a search warrant!”
Chaos and yelling erupts all over the room. I catch a glimpse of Helen as she scoops the chips into her purse and moves further from the table, taking advantage of the commotion to slip away.
“Oh my God, Dominic, what do we do?” Phoebe asks, suddenly pale as a sheet of paper.
“It’s a raid,” the dealer says, wide-eyed and scared shitless.
“How did this happen?” I ask him.
At the same time, federal agents swarm through the room and start slapping cuffs on anybody they can get. Some of the players slip away through the two side doors, following Helen’s lead. I have a mind to grab Phoebe and do the same before we get caught up in the mayhem, but it’s too late.
An agent approaches us, cuffs jingling in his hand. “You’re under arrest.”
The dealer puts his hands up. So do the remaining two players at our table. The third joined Helen outside. I wonder if there are more agents waiting somewhere outside, perhaps behind the building.
“Dominic,” Phoebe whispers.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assure her. “Don’t say anything. Our lawyers will handle it.”
The agent narrows his eyes at me. I realize we’re in deep trouble and there’s no way out. But I do get a phone call, and my brother will soon be made aware of what’s happened. We just need to make sure our names don’t hit the papers in connection to this raid.
It’ll obliterate Phoebe’s chances in court against her mother.