For someone already prone to gambling, the taste of victory only fueled Shawn's addiction. However, his winning streak soon faded. Each loss sent him pounding the table in frustration, desperate to recoup his losses. Each win, however small, only fueled his greed for more. Day after day, his fifty million dollars vanished. Shawn was utterly blinded by his escalating losses.

"Want to turn things around?" Lance said, tossing a pen and a tempting stack of cash onto the table. "I'll lend you some money. You know the contract—just sign here."

Shawn, eager for a comeback, readily signed. It began with one million dollars, then two, then ten, and finally twenty million. Even when the casino staff ejected him, Shawn remained delusional, shouting, "Let me play one more hand! I can turn things around!"

"You can turn things around after you repay your debts," Lance said, puffing on a cigarette and tossing a stack of contracts onto the table.

Within a month, they had become friendly. But today, Lance sneered, "Who do you think you are, calling me your best friend?" He kicked Shawn hard. "Best friend, my ass!"

Shawn hit the ground. Seeing the thirty-million-dollar debt, he scoffed, "So what if it's thirty million? I have plenty of money! Do you really think I care about this small amount?"

"Then show me the money," Lance demanded, extending his hand. "Where is it?"

Shawn patted himself down, finding nothing; he'd even pawned his expensive watch. But it didn't matter, he reasoned; he'd bought a six-million-dollar villa for Howell and Tabitha.

Just as he was about to boast about his remaining assets, Lance slammed another contract onto the table.

"Is this what you're harping on about? A six-million-dollar villa, already signed over as collateral for four million."

Lance grinned wickedly. "My people have already collected the house. Think of something else you might have." Shawn's expression changed instantly.

He realized he'd been played. He was broke, owing thirty million dollars in high-interest loans. Crawling to Lance's feet, he begged, "Lance, I swear I'll pay you back, but—"

Lance kicked him again, spitting on the ground. "Who are you calling 'Lance'? You think you can just use that name?"

"I was wrong, Mr. Thompson! Please, don't take the villa! Where will we live?" he cried.

"Go back where you came from. It's your problem, you chose to gamble. I lent you money, and now you want out? Besides, can't you ask the Fuller family? They're the richest in Khogend! They donated a billion dollars for a bridge recently! This is nothing to them. You always brag about your connections to them, right? Go ask for help!"

Shawn's face turned crimson. He had often boasted of a close relationship with the Fuller family, and many believed him. But he alone knew the truth.

Frustrated and angry, a thought struck him: Felicia. She had lived with them for eighteen years. Wouldn't she feel some obligation to help instead of severing ties completely?