CHAPTER 74.
The low hum of the private jet filled the air as it touched down on the private strip. Liam stood with his hands in his pockets, sharp eyes scanning the sleek aircraft as the door opened.
John stepped out with the unhurried grace of a man who had seen too much of the world to be fazed by anything. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, he looked every bit like someone born to slip into any role and make it believable.
"John." Liam greeted with a nod, though his tone carried a trace of curiosity. "Didn't expect to see you this soon."
"Neither did I," John replied, his voice low and edged with amusement. "But when William calls in the middle of the night, you know it's serious."
Minutes later, they arrived at William's townhouse. The tension in the room was palpable as William rose to meet his old friend. For the first time that day, there was a flicker of relief in his eyes.
"You made good time," William said, clasping his hand firmly.
"You said it couldn't wait," John replied simply, before glancing at Liam. "So, tell me… what role am I playing this time?"
William's lips curved into a faint smile. He explained all what's happening to him briefly and why he was needed. "So you would be the host. Someone Donovan will believe has been in this game long enough to fear—and respect. You'll need to be flawless. One wrong slip, and this whole plan collapses. He will be with you soon to know if I'm truly into gambling."
John leaned back, folding his arms with calm assurance. "Then you called the right man."
"I trust you for that."
___
Kate was still drying her hair when William walked into the bedroom, his phone in hand. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried that sharp glint she had come to recognize—plans were already in motion.
"You're up early," she murmured, tossing the towel aside.
"I had to be," William replied, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. "He's here."
Kate blinked. "Who?"
"John." William's tone was matter-of-fact, but it made her sit straighter.
"John…" she echoed slowly, trying to piece it together.
"My host, he's a friend of mine who has been overseas for a long time."William clarified.
"Ohh…"
"He is the one you'll tell Carlos about. Donovan will believe it because John has a history in the gambling scene. Discreet, careful, untouchable. He knows how to play his role."
Kate's brows furrowed. "And Carlos… he'll want details. He'll ask questions."
"That's why I'm telling you this," William said evenly. "You'll tell him John runs exclusive gambling dens overseas—private rooms, high-stakes clients, all under the radar. That I've been one of his regulars for years. That should convince Carlos that Donovan meeting him will expose me."
Kate's lips parted, the weight of the lie heavy in her chest. "And if Carlos decides to dig deeper? If Donovan pushes him?"
William leaned closer, his voice a low promise. "John knows what to say. Trust me—Donovan will walk away believing every word."
Kate exhaled slowly, trying to ground herself. She hated how her stomach twisted—caught between fear of Carlos and faith in William. "Alright," she whispered. "I'll tell him."
William's hand brushed hers briefly, steadying her trembling fingers. "Good. This is our move, Kate. You just need to play your part."
__
Kate knocked on the door to Carlos's office and pushed it open to see her uncle seated on the chair that wasn't meant for him. The big leather seat once belonged to her father, and though Carlos filled it with ease, the sight always twisted something in her chest.
"Come in," Carlos said, his deep voice carrying both authority and impatience.
Kate stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind her. She forced her expression into calm neutrality, even though her heart was hammering. "I have information," she said simply.
Carlos leaned back, studying her. "Go on."
"The host. The one William gambles with." She drew a steadying breath. "His name is John. He runs private gambling dens abroad—elite circles, no outsiders, no records. William has been tied to him for a while now."
Carlos's brows lifted a fraction. "John? John who?"
Kate shook her head, just as William had told her. "No one knows his surname. He only goes by John. That's how discreet he is. You don't find him unless he lets you in."
Carlos's fingers tapped slowly against the desk. His eyes, sharp and measuring, pinned her in place. "And you're certain of this?"
"Yes." She swallowed, her voice firmer than she felt. "I wouldn't risk bringing it here if I wasn't."
A long silence followed, stretching until Kate's lungs ached from holding her breath. Then Carlos gave a small nod, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Good work. Donovan will pay him a visit soon. If William's been gambling under John's roof, it's only a matter of time before we prove it."
"This is where you can meet him." Kate dropped a file on the desk before standing up to leave.
She had given Carlos exactly what he wanted—yet every step deeper felt like tightening a noose around her own neck.
Carlos's tone hardened. He had Donovan on the line.
"I have gotten the host information," Carlos said without preamble. "John. He's the man William gambles with—runs exclusive dens overseas. Invisible on paper, but real enough if you know where to look."
There was a pause, the faint crackle of Donovan's voice on the other end. Then a low chuckle.
"Finally," Donovan murmured. "That's the thread we've been waiting for."
Carlos leaned back in the stolen chair, his lips curling into a thin smile. "If William is tangled with John, we'll have the proof soon enough. I'll arrange the meeting."
"Good, it should be tonight… we don't have to waste time anymore." Donovan replied. "This ends with William's ruin."
The line went dead, leaving Carlos in silence. He set the phone down, his expression dark with satisfaction.
____
The door clicked shut behind Donovan as he stepped into the low-lit room. The faint hum of a ceiling fan mixed with the muted sounds of cards being shuffled somewhere deeper in the building.
John sat at the table, a deck of cards in his hand, idly flipping one over, then another. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes tracked Donovan like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You must be Donovan," John said, his tone smooth, practiced.
Donovan didn't sit. He kept his stance firm, shoulders squared. "And you're the man they say William Dray gambles with."
John chuckled, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "They say? My friend, in this business we don't rely on rumors." He reached for a small leather folder on the table and slid it toward Donovan.
Donovan's eyes flicked down. Inside were printed sheets—tables of numbers, betting records, even photographs. William's name appeared more than once, attached to losses and wins, each signed off with the host's discreet seal.
"See for yourself," John said, leaning back. "High stakes, late nights, cards, dice—you name it. William sat at this very table more times than I can count. He's a man who hates losing, but can't resist playing."
Donovan picked up one of the sheets, his jaw tightening as he scanned it. The dates stretched back months, even years—records too detailed to be fabricated at a glance.
When his gaze lifted again, John was watching him closely, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"You came for proof," John murmured, swirling his glass. "Now tell me… does that satisfy your curiosity? Or do you need me to show you the chair he favored, the cards he folded on?"
The air between them grew taut, the kind of silence that threatened to snap. Donovan's hand lingered on the folder, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he said quietly, "I'll need time to decide what this means."
John's smile deepened, sly and deliberate. "Take all the time you want. But remember, Donovan—every gambler leaves a trail. The question is… what will you do with his?"
Donovan's breath hitched, caught between certainty and suspicion. The folder felt heavier in his hands than it should have.