Chapter 149:
With a carefree laugh, Brixton replied, âAbsolutely! Whatâs the fun without a stake?â
Unbeknownst to Brixton, his words would cost him dearly later on.
âFine by me,â Harlee said, clearly amused. She was more than willing to accept if this generous soul was ready to part with his money.
The lounge of the Tartarus Club was located on the sixth floor.
Brixton led Bruno to set up the private room, while Harlee went to find Ritchie.
âWhatâs wrong with you?â Harlee frowned as she looked down at the haggard Ritchie.
Ritchie glanced up, recognized Harlee, and scrambled to his feet.
âHarlee, youâre here? Care for a drink?â He had been holed up at the Tartarus Club for days, drinking himself into oblivion and then sleeping it off.
Without uttering a word, Harlee kicked him in the stomach.
âYou have ten minutes to clean yourself up and meet us in the lounge on the sixth floor for a game of bridge. If you mess up my chances to win money, youâll regret it!â
Before leaving, she softened her tone slightly and continued, âThe issue with the Diaz family is settled, but Ritchie, your story is just beginning.
Arenât you curious about your mother and your real father?â
At the mention of his mother, a spark of life flickered in Ritchieâs previously dull eyes.
He pulled himself together, looked in the mirror at his unkempt, scruffy face, and laughed before heading to the restroom.
Harlee was truly something. She always managed to pull him from his lowest points.
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At the Green Group, Rhys had just wrapped up an international meeting and reclined in his office chair for a brief rest.
Hamilton handed Rhys a tablet displaying live surveillance from the Tartarus Clubâs sixth floor.
âMiss Sanderson is at the bridge table with her friend Ritchie and Brixtonâs buddy.â
Brixton? Rhys massaged his temples and after a moment, recalled Brixton as that lazy, good-for-nothing nephew of his.
To avoid embarrassment, Brixtonâs mother had only her successful eldest son make contact with Rhys.
âHow does he know Harlee?â Rhys asked.
Wellâ¦
Hamilton felt somewhat bewildered as he had not yet had the chance to look into it.
Rhys examined the tablet and then furrowed his brow.
âWhy is the bet only a million?â
Hamiltonâs face stiffened.
How could he explain that a million was substantial and that âonlyâ was hardly the appropriate term? Yet, he remained silent, keeping his thoughts to himself as someone less fortunate might.
Rhys kept his eyes on the tablet, his gaze filled with disdain.
âSend ten million over to Brixton. Let him lose a little more.â
Hamilton was taken aback.
Could Rhys truly be serious? This was an unusually lavish way to funnel money to a woman, all the while keeping his identity hidden. It was wildly generous! Out loud, Hamilton affirmed enthusiastically, âYes!â
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