Royal Flush

L.A. is a beautiful city to live in with great weather, wonderful attractions and an amazing nightlife. This is where our story begins.

There is a poker tournament going on at 9:30 PM in downtown Los Angeles. This was only a small neighbourhood tournament, but just the looks on the spectators' faces are enough to make someone burst into laughter. Some faces are red, some are green, some faces look like they belonged in a hospital ward and some don't even look human.
Everyone is huddled around the table, the players and the dealer. Not even a starving lion could distract one person in this crowd, the spectators are watching that intently, deciding who to bet on, whether to bet on the young dark horses or on the old veterans. Sitting at the table are 5 men. On the left hand side of the table two young men are seated.
One is an 18 year old named Jacob Matthews, who is nervously experiencing his first game in the neighbourhood, as he was previously too young to participate, with his parents loudly cheering him on. The other is an unknown man, presumably from Texas, as he is currently taking a nap with his hat over his face.
On the right hand side of the table are two elderly men. One is the neighbourhood fishmonger Gregory Miller, who is a tenacious old man who hates being told what to do. The other is the local chef, Pierre, who is the man responsible for this tournament and the prize, a free dinner at his restaurant La Truffe d'or.
Sitting on his own in the middle of the table is a short bearded man. Who, due to the numerous wrinkles and bags on his face, and his deep yellow teeth that look ready to fall out, the few strands of grey hair on the back of his head and the retro smelling odour flowing from his body, seemed like an elderly man in his 70's.
You wouldn't have given him a second glance because he looked like an average elderly man, and yet this man is the world's youngest multi-billionaire at only 40 years old. The man's name was Vladimir Petroviç. And he is currently the top man in the business world. He had his name on almost every mainstream brand on the planet, as well as owning his own products which made him £450,000 alone in their first week on the market in England. Petroviç had almost all the money in the world, however, he had an extreme obsession with gambling and sometimes blew thousands or even millions of dollars on horse races, greyhound races and poker.

The cards have been dealt. Everyone looks shocked as the seemingly old man bet $300,000,000,000, without even looking at his cards, although that much to him was only pocket money. The other players thought to themselves for a moment. Jacob looks at his parents, who had become silent, he looks at the ceiling and then glances at the man who had made the unreasonable bet. Jacob was not poor, he had saved up $50,000,000 for personal use and university fees, but he couldn't afford to bet this much on a game of poker. Jacob stood up, folded and confidently walked out of the room with his parents chasing after him. Gregory followed suit, stomping out of the room while complaining about the youth of today. Pierre called with a more than worried look on his face. As Pierre wiped the sweat off his brow, the unknown Texan tapped his hat and called before quickly returning to sleep.

The dealer turns over the first two cards. They are a Three of Diamonds and a Three of Spades.
Petroviç sits back comfortably in his chair and smirks. He decides to call. Pierre looks up for a second, showing his bewilderment. This is the first time that Petroviç has ever called in a poker match. Pierre quickly regains his calm and calls. The Texan also calls. Petroviç smiles happily and looks down at his cards. He has a Three of Hearts and a Three of Clubs, not really high scoring cards, but promising cards.

The next two are turned over. Jack of Spades and Queen of Spades. Petroviç, not being one to hide his feelings, quietly chuckles as he watches the reactions of Pierre and the Texan. Pierre is looking somewhat relieved, although he still looks ready to fold. The Texan, still asleep, showed no emotion.
Petroviç figured that he had won the hand. He sits back, puts his feet up on the table and confidently goes all out, betting $955,000,000, smiling as the chips roll towards the pot.
Pierre looks at Petroviç, sighs and folds. As he gets up, Pierre walks over to Petroviç, flicks him on the forehead and walks away, while saying "get your feet of the table Vlad. It's bad manners."
Petroviç obediently removes his feet from the table while looking at the Texan, who hasn't made a move or said a word throughout the whole tournament. The Texan sits up and yawns, he didn't seem to be taking this seriously. Petroviç, becoming annoyed at the time this was taking, spoke up, saying "Look, if you're not going to play seriously, just fold now. I've got important things to do."
The Texan, hearing this, removes his hat and reveals his identity.

Not one person in the crowd could believe what they were seeing. Some had faces portraying shock of the highest order, others were furiously rubbing their eyes, trying to ensure that they are awake but the question all these people wanted to ask was asked by one old lady, who said "Isn't he ... That man?"

That man, as the elderly lady, along with the rest of the crowd in the room, realised is George Mykhals.
Mykhals, who is known as the owner of GMP and the only man in the world who can rival the wealth of Vladimir Petroviç, is a multi-millionaire with a feisty attitude and an obsession with winning, even if it means using his assets to achieve that. Mykhals is one of the most notorious men on the planet. He has taken lives, run companies into the ground and even cheated completely innocent people, leaving them with nothing. Mykhals took in the hostile atmosphere while going all out and chuckling as he slammed the money down. Every one soul cramped into the basement intently watched as the dealer purposely took his time turning the next two cards.

Petroviç, shocked by the sudden revelation, watches Mykhals, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but Mykhals stares straight back and winks at him. Petroviç takes a minute to ponder over the possibilities of Mykhals winning, simulating all the shame he might feel if he were to fold at this point in the game. After coming to a rash decision due to his excessive pride and vehement hate for losing, Petroviç concluded that there was no chance that he could lose and decided to get on with the match.

The dealer turned the final card. King of spades. Petroviç roared with laughter, laying out hand.
The crowd gasped, staring at the hand that Petroviç had laid out. Petroviç's hand was the best four card hand in the game. Four of a Kind. Not one person in the crowd did not realise that it would be very difficult for George Mykhals to beat this hand. Even Jacob, Gregory and Pierre, who all returned to the table to see the outcome after hearing that the Texan was George Mykhals, all agreed that this was a tremendous hand.

Petroviç is pleased. He looks up at Mykhals, making a face that seems to say "let me see the hand that you were so confident about."
Mykhals smiles confidently and replies "I apologise, my friend, but I am a man who takes his time", refuting Petroviç's taunting.
Petroviç, displeased with Mykhals refusal to yield, orders Mykhals in a somewhat perplexed tone "Hurry up and show your cards. Let's see what you have up your sleeve, you dirty cheat!"
Hearing this Mykhals stood up and walked over to Petroviç. He stooped down and whispered something to Petroviç, something so threatening that it caused Petroviç to sit up in his seat, looking a little more than worried.

Mykhals told Jacob, who was standing beside Mykhals' seat to turn the cards over. Jacob reluctantly showed the hand.
Petroviç stood up, everyone stepped back. The old lady in the back fainted and all because of Mykhals' hand. On the table, face up for the whole crowd to see was a 10 of Spades and an Ace of Spades. In the middle of the table was a 3 of Hearts, a 3 of Spades, a Jack of Spades, a Queen of Spades and a King of Spades. A Royal Flush.
As Petroviç slowly walks out from the crowd, crying, a sentence repeats in his mind, like a music player on repeat.

"It was nice humouring you, but now I have to end this."