Chapter 3: Team or Betrayal

The room was filled with surprise and doubt. A few eyebrows raised, a couple of nervous laughs rippled through the crowd.

Unconsciously, I clenched my fists, palms damp with sweat—a bad feeling crept in, like the bottom dropping out of a roller coaster.

Before it could grow, Snake Vance spoke again, voice clear and sharp.

“This game has a loophole. Let me explain how to use it to win first place.”

“There’s a $3 million bonus and a $1 million penalty. If multiple players tie for first, the bonus is split; if multiple tie for last, the penalty is split. These amounts are capped. If my brothers and I team up, and both first and last place are in my team, guess what happens?”

Just as I suspected—he saw the loophole too. The realization was like ice water down my spine, my breath catching.

I rubbed my hands, a bit unwilling. The game was already shifting, and my odds were shrinking.

“You’ll get $2 million in prize money,” a player blurted out. His voice shook, but his math was solid—everyone could see the logic.

“Exactly. Six of us team up, complete tasks, collect more cards than solo players, then at the end, assign all the coins to one person—he gets first place and the $3 million prize. The other five have no coins, tie for last, and split the $1 million penalty. So after the penalty, the team still gets $2 million.”

“The surefire way is teamwork and numbers.”

“My team has six now—an absolute advantage. I’m recruiting five more to make an 11-person team. Eleven versus nine—huge advantage, almost guaranteed victory.”

“After we win, 11 people split the $2 million. I calculated—each gets about $180,000.”

“We can sign an agreement—the money will be distributed to each account, so there’s no risk of anyone backing out.”

“Choose now—join us, or go solo.”

Snake Vance’s pitch was sharp—clear logic, direct, and persuasive. It was like a Wall Street takeover, but with streetwise bravado and a dash of NFL locker room pep talk.

His words quickly stirred up the players. A few stood, a few whispered among themselves, the tension palpable and electric.

I watched as people scrambled to join his team; he’d seized the initiative. The smart ones moved first, eager to lock in their spot.

He and his lackeys already had a numbers advantage; once he built his team, I’d lose any chance to compete for first. The odds were shifting fast, like Vegas odds changing mid-game.

I silently watched as players fought to join Snake Vance, feeling a bit bitter. The taste of regret was sharp, burning in my throat.

Two years passed—bad people weren’t punished; instead, he thrived. The world was never fair. My bitterness grew.

His skills had improved; he knew how to manipulate people. He was a natural leader in a den of wolves, the kind of guy who’d run a shady startup or hustle Wall Street.

The loophole was obvious—other players would eventually see it. But speed was key; Snake Vance didn’t give others time to react and seized the initiative.

His adaptability and execution were sharper than mine. The lesson stung, and I clenched my fists, pacing near the wall.

I shook my head, bitterly aware I’d missed a huge opportunity. The regret was a heavy stone in my gut, my body tense with frustration.

Lost in self-pity, I didn’t notice Snake Vance walking over.

“Callahan, want to join us?” Snake Vance grinned, his smile cold. The offer was a dare, not a gift.

I looked up and asked, “Aren’t you afraid the other nine will team up too? How can you be sure nine can’t beat eleven?” My voice was steady, but my mind raced, searching for a counter.

Snake Vance sneered, “If I see them catching up, I’ll offer incentives and recruit a couple more. People aren’t that principled. You lose because you’re too stubborn!” His words were a challenge, a warning, and a confession all at once.

He squatted down, looking me in the eye, and suddenly grabbed my left hand, examining the severed fingers with a click of his tongue. The gesture was intimate and menacing, my discomfort rising.

“Honestly, you’re smart. Last time, without your help, I’d have been eliminated in round two. But you can’t read people. People are selfish—when it comes to profit, they’ll betray anyone.”

“As long as the money’s enough, anything can be done.”

“See these people? They’re eager to join because they know my side is likely to win. Easy to manipulate.”

Snake Vance patted my hand, lowered his voice, “Callahan, you’re too late. Even if you rally the rest, I have ways. Remember: with enough money, anything can be done.”

He gave me a sinister smile and walked away, his boots thudding softly on the hardwood, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

His lackeys had picked five more players—three strong men in Carhartt jackets, two sharp-looking ones in designer jeans. The rest watched with envy, the room humming with jealousy.

Those not chosen begged to join; Snake Vance refused but didn’t rule it out. He kept his options open, always.

“Too many people means less money per person, but if you earn more cards, we can consider it.”

Snake Vance finished assembling his team and led them to the second-floor restaurant. The smell of coffee and fried food drifted down—Folgers brewing, bacon sizzling.

They followed their new boss, excited as if the prize was already theirs. The bravado was almost contagious, laughter echoing down the stairs.

Those not chosen formed their own team—less advantage, but better than wandering alone. The outcasts banded together, sharing glances of hope and strategy over cheap diner coffee.

I was invited but politely declined; they didn’t insist and stayed to discuss tactics. My loner status was clear, the distance palpable.

I took my room card from the butler and quietly returned to my room, the plush carpet muffling my steps. The room smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and old books.

The enemy held the high ground—I could only find another path. The game was far from over.