Chapter 5: Showdown

He was silent for a few seconds, then sneered, “Fine, don’t blame me for scaring you. You want to follow, right?”

He gathered his nerve, trying to recover his swagger. The room watched, spellbound.

He picked up his cards and revealed two of them—a pair of Queens.

The move was calculated—a glimpse meant to keep me guessing. But I kept my face blank, refusing to show relief or fear.

Seeing this, I felt a weight lift from my chest, but kept my face serious.

I controlled my breathing, fighting the urge to grin. It was working—he was starting to sweat.

Jason said, “Guess if my last card makes a set of three?”

He gave a sly smile, tapping the last card with his finger. He wanted me to flinch, to doubt myself. I stared back, unblinking.

Deliberately showing half your hand is a classic Three Card Brag tactic—trying to scare your opponent and read their reaction.

It was a trick as old as the game itself, but I knew not to bite. The only way out was through.

But he couldn’t rattle me. Even if he had three of a kind, my three Kings would still beat his Queens. I’d only worried he might have three Aces, but now I knew I was safe.

I leaned back slightly, arms crossed. If he wanted to play games, I’d play right back.

Jason’s little show-off had put him on the road to ruin.

He didn’t know it yet, but the more he doubled down, the more he risked everything. I could see the desperation creeping into his eyes.

Of course, I still gritted my teeth and said, “I think you’re bluffing. Are you matching the bet or not?”

My voice was ice-cold. I kept my hand steady, refusing to give anything away.

He stared into my eyes, trying to read me.

It was like a gunfight at high noon—two men trying to outstare each other, waiting for the first sign of weakness.

Three Card Brag is a game of nerves and acting.

The best hand means nothing if you can’t keep your cool. Tonight, I was ice.

At that moment, he couldn’t decide. My uncle quickly urged him, “Stop now. Can’t you see he’s not afraid of your cards?”

My uncle’s voice cracked with anxiety, as if he could will Jason to stop before it was too late.

Jason scowled, “If I fold, my BMW and thirty grand are gone. He must be bluffing.”

His face was twisted with doubt. He looked at me, then at the pile of bets on the table, then back again. It was a lose-lose, and he knew it.

Usually, relatives love to chime in with advice. But now, no one dared to speak.

No one wanted to be blamed for what happened next. Even the usually chatty aunts and uncles were stone silent.

Because in Three Card Brag, until the cards are revealed, you can never know who’s bluffing.

That was the beauty and the horror of it—the tension didn’t break until the very end. Every second was a gamble.

Jason nervously watched everyone’s faces. He’d been the one raising the stakes all along—if he didn’t dare to follow in the end, he’d lose face in front of the whole family.

He licked his lips, glancing at each relative for support. No one would meet his gaze. He was on his own now.

Finally, he called his wife over. “Come here.”

His voice was softer now, almost pleading. She walked over, arms folded, her own poker face set.

She reluctantly walked to the table.

You could tell she hated being dragged into this, but she played along for his sake. Her heels clicked on the tile as she approached, the sound sharp in the silent room.

He told her to put up her gold jewelry—her wedding necklace, bracelet, and ring, which were much heavier than my fiancée’s. She peeled off her tennis bracelet and wedding set, the kind you see in mall ads every Valentine’s Day.

He leaned in and whispered something, then nodded at her hand. She looked at her jewelry, then at the pile on the table, weighing her options.

But unlike my fiancée, his wife refused to take them off.

She held her ground, chin high. For a moment, I thought she might walk away, but then Jason flashed the cards to her, his lips moving quickly.

Jason grew anxious and quickly showed her his cards. After seeing them, she brightened, then took off all her gold jewelry and put it on the table.

Her whole demeanor changed—she smiled, confident, even a little smug. She laid her jewelry down as if she were donating to charity, then winked at Jason.

She even smiled at me, “Let’s play to the end. Don’t regret it if you lose. All the family’s here—whoever backs out is cursed.”

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her words were sharp. She wanted to rattle me, but I just stared back, unfazed.

I asked, “So, do you want to show cards?”

I kept my tone polite, but there was steel underneath. The whole table watched, barely breathing.

She replied excitedly, “Why show? We’ll go to the end with you.”

She was flush with excitement, caught up in the drama. I could see the greed shining in her eyes.

Her greed was obvious, but now everyone was out of chips.

The table was crowded with jewelry, keys, and stacks of bills—no one else had anything left to add. The stakes were as high as they’d ever been.

Suddenly, she took off her diamond ring and put it on the table. “This ring cost five grand.”

She made a show of slipping it off, holding it up for everyone to see. The diamond caught the light, but I just shook my head.

I shook my head. “No diamond rings. That’s worth a hundred at best.”

I tried to keep my voice light, but I could hear the irritation in it. Pawn shops in our town wouldn’t pay much for a ring, no matter what the receipt said.

She got angry, pointing at me and snapping, “What do you know? This is a Tiffany’s!”

Her face flushed red, voice rising. For a second, I thought she might lunge across the table. The rest of the family tensed, waiting for the fireworks.

I gave a bitter smile. “Lisa, I don’t care what brand it is. To me, it’s worth a hundred at most.”

I shrugged, trying to diffuse her anger. I’d learned long ago not to get caught up in brand wars with Jason’s wife. She always cared more about labels than value.

She opened her mouth to snap back, but Jason slammed his palm down so hard the silverware jumped. “I’ll put up the house.”

All the relatives gasped.

It was like someone had thrown a grenade into the middle of the room. Even the domino players in the den looked up, eyes wide with shock.

My uncle shouted, “Don’t be ridiculous! Our house is downtown, worth three hundred grand!”

His voice cracked, panic and anger blending together. You could almost see him tallying the cost in his head—years of mortgage payments, college savings, all on the line.

Jason sneered, “Dad, I’m not messing around. Whatever I bet, he has to match. Three Card Brag rules—each round’s bet can’t be less than the last. Little bro, can you match it?”

He was grinning like a madman, eyes blazing. The rules had changed—now it was all or nothing.

I fell silent. I simply couldn’t come up with that much money.

The weight of reality crashed over me. The numbers didn’t add up—no matter how I sliced it, I was short.

Jason immediately saw my predicament and laughed, patting my shoulder.

He gave me a condescending tap, the same one he’d used on me when I was a kid. His laughter was sharp and cruel.

He said, “Some things are just out of your league. I’m bullying you because you can’t match my bet. What can you do? I can keep raising the stakes, but even if you risk your life, you can’t keep up.”

He sat back, folding his arms, satisfied. He thought he’d won.

His wife sneered, “Follow or not? If not, just fold.”

She leaned in, voice dripping with disdain. Her words stung, but I kept my face blank.

That was the truth, here and everywhere in America. The rules of the game changed depending on your ZIP code and bank account.

So every time the poor match a bet, the pressure doubles.

I felt it—every dollar was a weight on my shoulders, every new stake a test of how far I’d go to prove myself.

The words echoed in my head, but instead of shame, I felt only defiance. Tonight, I wouldn’t let him win that way.

I nervously looked at my fiancée and my dad. My dad’s face had gone pale. He couldn’t understand how a card game had gotten this far.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, hands wringing his faded Ohio State ball cap. My fiancée reached over, giving my knee a gentle squeeze—a silent reassurance.

But my fiancée suddenly said, “My parents have a house for me. It’s not downtown, but it’s worth about a hundred grand.”

Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. She looked Jason dead in the eye, daring him to doubt her.

I grabbed her hand, emotional. “No. The condo is mine, the jewelry is mine. If I lose, at worst we break up—your family won’t be affected. But if you put up your family’s property and I lose, I’ll ruin them.”

My voice cracked. I couldn’t let her risk everything, not for me—not even to wipe the smirk off Jason’s face.

She said coldly, “Let’s not be cowards in front of him. If we back down today, we’ll never stand up again. I trust you wouldn’t do something you’re not sure of.”

Her words cut through the panic like a knife. She believed in me, and that gave me strength. I squeezed her hand, my eyes stinging.

I trembled—not from fear, but happiness.

No matter how much money Jason piled up, he’d never have what I had: loyalty, trust, love. I was richer than he’d ever be.

I knew I was bound to win. All this was just an act for Jason, to make him think I was nervous too.

I forced myself to keep up the charade—biting my lip, glancing away—just to keep him guessing.

But from my fiancée’s perspective, it was different. She didn’t know my cards, but she was still willing to bet everything with me.

Her faith was the real jackpot. I glanced at her, letting her see how much I appreciated her.

My heart stuttered. Was this bravery or madness? All I knew was, I’d never loved her more.