The steam from Marcus's mom's hot and sour soup curled toward the ceiling of Chen's Kitchen. The restaurant was closed for the night, but the lights were on—Marcus, his mom, Raymond, Claire, and Sophia sat around a folding table, paper plates stacked with dumplings and fried rice.
"We should celebrate," Marcus's mom said, pouring tea into paper cups. Her smile was soft, the first real one Marcus had seen since they'd moved to Los Angeles. "Wolf is in jail. The restaurant is safe."
Raymond raised his cup, but his eyes were distant. He'd barely spoken since the FBI took Wolf away, picking at his rice like it tasted of ash. Marcus noticed—his uncle was hiding something.
Sophia, who'd been quiet all night, suddenly set down her chopsticks. Her hands were shaking. "I need help," she said, her voice tight. "My dad. He's gone. Wolf's guys—they took him. They said if I don't give them 'Raymond's ledger,' they'll kill him."
Marcus's blood ran cold. The ledger. Raymond had mentioned it once, offhand—something about old records. He looked at his uncle.
Raymond sighed, pushing his plate away. "It's not just Wolf's ledger," he said. "It's mine. I kept track of every game, every debt, every name—including Chen's."
"Chen?" Claire asked, flipping to a blank page in her dad's notebook. "My dad's notes mention a 'Chen'—his old partner. The one who runs the New York underground games."
Raymond's jaw tightened. "We were partners. Years ago. We ran poker games in Chinatown, made good money. But Chen wanted to expand—drugs, money laundering. I said no. We split. He's hated me ever since." He paused, staring at Claire. "Your dad knew. He went undercover to take Chen down. Not just Wolf."
Claire's breath hitched. "So my dad's death—was it Chen? Not Wolf?"
Raymond nodded, his voice quiet. "Wolf was just a pawn. Chen's the real boss. The ledger has everything—Chen's contacts, his smuggling routes, his next move. He's been looking for it for years."
Marcus's phone buzzed. He pulled it out—an anonymous email. The subject line: "Chen knows you have the ledger." The body was short: "Las Vegas. World Poker Tournament. He wants you there. Come alone."
He showed the email to the table. Claire's face paled. "It's a trap. He wants the ledger—and to kill you."
Sophia leaned forward. "We have to get my dad back. The ledger's our leverage. I know where Raymond hid it—his old storage unit in Chinatown."
Raymond shook his head. "It's too dangerous. Chen's men will be watching."
Marcus stood, grabbing his jacket. "We have no choice. Sophia's dad is in danger. And Claire—we need to find out who killed your dad."
His mom stood, grabbing his arm. "Marcus, no. You've done enough. Let the FBI handle it."
Marcus hugged her. "I have to, Mom. This isn't just about the ledger. It's about not being a victim anymore."
Claire stood, sliding her dad's notebook into her backpack. "I'm coming. I know my dad's tricks—how to spot surveillance, how to lie to Chen's guys."
Sophia grinned, grabbing her switchblade from her pocket. "Count me in. I know Chinatown like the back of my hand."
Raymond sighed, standing. "Fine. But we do it my way. No heroics."
They left the restaurant, the night air cool. Marcus looked at Claire, her face determined in the streetlight. She smiled, small and quick. "We've got this," she said.
But as they walked to the car, Marcus thought of the email—"Come alone." Chen knew he'd bring backup. And he didn't care.
This was more than a trap. It was a game. And Chen wanted to play.