Regret Is the Only Gain in a New Year Gamble

"300 thousand dollars," Owen said, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Are you in or not?"

By then, we had already drawn the attention of the older members of the family.

My uncle, Peter Thompson, saw what was happening and panicked. He snapped at Owen, "Have you lost your mind? That money is set aside for the holidays! Are you seriously putting it on the table?"

Yet, Owen sat down with a grin, utterly unconcerned. "Don't worry. I can afford to play. The real question is… Can he?"

I immediately understood what he was up to.

In three-card brag, there was a cap to keep things from getting out of hand. But when the game started, Owen had shown off, insisting there be no limit. He meant to keep raising the stakes higher and higher until I couldn't keep up and lost everything.

Sure enough, he taunted, "Don't tell me you can't come up with the cash. Even if you can't, everything you've already bet stays on the table."

Uncle Peter caught on right away. This time, he didn't even bother hiding his amusement. He chuckled and turned back to his game of rummy, not sparing me another glance.

I clenched my fists and said nothing. There was no way I could come up with 300 thousand dollars in cash.

Out of nowhere, Amelia spoke up. "It's fine. We'll put the house on the line."

In an instant, every head in the room snapped toward her. Uncle Peter froze. A cigarette hung from his lips while his hand hovered over the cards.

Owen, on the other hand, stared at us blankly, his expression caught between anger and unease. Both of them were trembling slightly.

At that point, even the older relatives stopped playing. They quickly gathered around us, saying the stakes had gotten too high.

Panicked, my dad rushed over and slammed his fist into my shoulder. He shouted, "Have you lost your mind? Are you trying to bankrupt this family?"

As he yelled, he tried to see my cards. But I held them down tightly and refused to let him.

Those who knew the game understood that a person should never show their cards to anyone. Their reactions could give everything away.

I had three kings, and only three aces could beat that hand.

Owen was the one who started all of this. Every seasoned player knew what a hand like this meant—either I walked away with nothing, or blood would spill.

Amelia looked at Owen, calm and steady. "Our house is worth 500 thousand dollars. That's 200 thousand dollars more than what you've bet. Are you in or not?"

"Have all of you lost your minds?" Uncle Peter roared.

He lunged across the table, trying to shove our chips back. Then, he barked at me, "Don't provoke Owen! He's a big-time businessman and doesn't want to hold it against you!

"Apologize to him now! Do you not want him to help you get ahead someday?"

Without missing a beat, I grabbed him and snarled, "Put it all down!"

Uncle Peter hadn't expected me to snap at him like that. He flinched, and a shudder ran through him.

Through clenched teeth, I hissed, "When he was betting 500 dollars a hand, none of you said a word! When he was bragging at the dinner table, you had my dad light his cigarette for him. He was the one who threw his car keys in first. I'm seeing this all the way through!"

Uncle Peter stared at me, stunned. Then, he snapped, "How dare you speak to your elders like that!"

I looked at Owen, my voice icy as I said, "You've got two choices. Either you put in another 200 thousand dollars, and we show our cards, or you walk away and forfeit everything you've bet.

"There's also a third option. We call the whole thing off, and everyone takes their bets back. But you must apologize to my dad."

The room fell silent at once.

Everyone had seen it earlier—how Owen held his cigarette between two fingers and let Dad light it for him. Yet, at the time, no one spoke up.

In fact, I'd noticed the look on Uncle Peter's face. He'd been almost smug about it.

Just then, Owen let out a bitter laugh. "You've got a lot of nerve, huh? Acting like this in front of the whole family."