The Atlas Lyons Club: Roaring Ambitions

Raising the Stakes

Day/Time: Saturday Night (Poker Game)

The poker room in The Atlas Lyons Club was lit by the soft glow of a single chandelier, its dim light casting long, flickering shadows across the green velvet table. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan only added to the tension that lingered in the air. The real game was never about the cards—it was about the power plays, the unspoken battles happening beneath the surface.

Maxwell Fifty sat at the head of the table, the cards in his hands gliding effortlessly between his fingers. His every movement was deliberate, his grin a subtle warning. He exuded confidence, the kind that comes from knowing more than anyone else in the room.

Around him sat Oren Oberman, Junior "Sunny" Domenica (JDoms), Marcus Lane, and Holmes Radcliffe. Each man held his cards differently—Oren's grip firm but unreadable, JDoms' loose, Marcus' fingers drumming lightly on the table, and Holmes' casual, like he had already won the game. But it was never just about the cards; the room was electric with the weight of unspoken strategies.

"Call," Marcus said casually, pushing a pile of chips into the center of the table. His eyes lingered on Oren for just a moment, probing, testing.

JDoms matched the raise without hesitation, leaning back in his chair, surveying the table. "Feels like we're dancing in circles here. Should we up the tempo?"

Maxwell's grin widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Sometimes, a slow dance is the most dangerous. It's all about waiting for the right moment to strike."

A few rounds in, the tension in the room became palpable, the weight of every hand heavier than the last. Each move felt deliberate, but there was something lurking beneath the surface, something more than just a pile of chips.

Maxwell leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the edge of his cards before he spoke. "You know, there's more at stake here than just this hand." His voice was calm, but his words carried a subtle edge. He looked directly at Oren. "I've been working on something... something that could change everything."

Oren met his gaze but remained silent. JDoms, however, wasn't as patient. "And what's the buy-in for this little venture?"

Maxwell chuckled, lowering his cards slightly. "That's the thing about opportunities—they don't come with guarantees. But when they pay off, the rewards are... significant."

Marcus remained silent, his fingers now tapping lightly on the edge of the table, his gaze never leaving Maxwell. Holmes, on the other hand, allowed a small smirk to cross his face, like he was already privy to the secret that Maxwell was dangling in front of them.

Oren finally spoke, his voice steady. "We'll need more than promises."

Maxwell's grin widened, flashing a bit of teeth this time. "You'll get them... soon enough."

Ezra Cohen sat near the bar, his drink untouched in front of him. He didn't need to sit at the table to understand what was happening. The real game wasn't in the cards—it was in the room's undercurrents. The subtle shifts in power, the glances exchanged between the players, the small tells that revealed the real stakes. And Ezra was very good at reading a room.

Behind the bar, Scotchy Buchanan quietly cleaned glasses, his eyes flicking occasionally toward Ezra. "You staying out of this one?" Scotchy asked, his voice low.

Ezra's lips curled into a faint smile. "Not my game tonight. But I'm still watching."

Scotchy raised an eyebrow, pouring Ezra another drink. "It's always the quiet ones."

Ezra took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving the poker table. "You'd be surprised how loud the quiet can get."

Back at the table, the night was winding down, but the tension was only building. The poker game wasn't about winning anymore—at least not in the traditional sense. It was about positioning, about setting up the pieces for the moves that would come after the game.

Maxwell tossed his cards onto the table, standing up with an easy smile. "Let's not drag this out any longer. The real game's just starting."

JDoms glanced at Oren, his brow furrowed. "He's playing with us."

Oren gave a small nod, his eyes still on Maxwell. "Let him. It's all part of the game."

Maxwell shot one final glance at Oren before heading for the door, the tension lingering in the room long after he'd left. Marcus and Holmes exchanged a quiet look before following suit, their footsteps fading down the hall.

JDoms leaned in closer to Oren, his voice low. "We need to figure out what he's really after."

"We will," Oren said, his voice calm but decisive. "But on our terms, not his."

As the last of the players left the room, the poker table sat empty, but the stakes had never been higher.