Billionaire Cashback System: I Can't Go Broke!-Chapter 33: Dead Man’s Hand

The first thing Ryan did was nothing.

He picked up his two cards, looked at them, and put them back down on the felt. A nine of clubs and a four of hearts. Nothing. Not even close to nothing — actively bad. A hand that in any book or video he’d ever consumed about poker was described in one word: fold.

He already knew that much. Two cards that didn’t match in number or suit, low value, no foundation to build anything from. The math was simple. The correct move was to push the cards forward and wait for the next hand.

He didn’t fold.

Not because he had a plan. Because he needed to watch.

He matched the opening bet — small, the table minimum, the cost of staying in the hand and seeing what everyone else did. Marvin glanced at him. Said nothing.

Three cards came face up in the center of the table. This was the part Ryan knew as the flop — the shared cards that everyone could use, the first real information of the hand. A seven of diamonds, a seven of spades, a king of hearts.

Nothing that helped him. Two sevens on the board meant anyone holding a seven had three of a kind already. The king meant anyone holding a king had a strong pair.

Ryan had a nine and a four.

He watched the table.

The man in the blue jacket — whose name was apparently Freddie — bet immediately. Not huge, but fast. Too fast even. Fast bets usually meant one of two things: a strong hand wanting to build the pot, or a weak hand wanting everyone to think it was strong.

Marvin called without hesitation.

The younger man with the expensive watch — Christian — folded quietly, pushing his cards forward with two fingers.

Two others called.

Ryan called.

He was essentially paying to watch at this point, which felt like the right price.

The fourth card landed face up. A nine of diamonds.

Ryan looked at it.

He now had a pair of nines — one in his hand, one on the board. In the context of everything else showing, it wasn’t a winning hand. But it was no longer nothing.

He kept his face doing exactly what it had been doing since he sat down, which was not very much.

Freddie bet again. Bigger this time. One of the other men folded immediately, shaking his head. Marvin raised — pushed more chips forward, a clean stack, the motion showing he did this regularly and wanted that to be visible.

Ryan looked at his chips. He had roughly twenty-seven thousand left from his thirty thousand buy-in. The pot in the center had grown into something real.

He called.

Freddie looked at him. "Still in."

"Still in," Ryan confirmed.

"You sure about that?"

"I’m sure I called," Ryan said. "What happens after that is information I don’t have yet."

Marvin made a sound that was close to a laugh but didn’t fully commit.

The fifth and final card came down.

A nine of spades.

Ryan looked at it and kept his face completely still through an act of will that required more effort than anything else he’d done that evening.

Three nines. One in his hand, two now on the board. Three of a kind. In the hierarchy he’d absorbed from hours of watching — three of a kind beat two pair, beat a single pair, beat everything except a straight, a flush, a full house, four of a kind, or a straight flush.

The question was what everyone else had.

Freddie had bet fast from the beginning.

The board was showing two sevens and three nines now — if Freddie had a seven in his hand, he had a full house. Seven-seven-nine-nine-nine, with the sevens as his pair and the nines from the board. A full house beat three of a kind.

Ryan thought about the fast bet.

The way Freddie had looked at the first three cards and moved immediately. If he had a seven, the flop had given him three of a kind straight away and he’d wanted to build the pot from that moment.

It was possible.

It was also possible Freddie was exactly the kind of player Zara had described — aggressive, frequent loser, a man who’d been coming back to this table and betting fast on hands that didn’t hold.

Ryan looked at him without staring, just a normal glance across the table.

Freddie was holding his cards slightly tighter than he had been.

People held cards tighter when they were worried about them. Not when they were confident.

Ryan made a decision.

He pushed chips forward. A real bet this time — not calling or matching.

Raising. Eight thousand dollars worth of raising, a stack that landed in the center of the table with the sound of a number that required a response.

The room behind them had gotten quieter.

Freddie stared at the chips. Stared at Ryan. Looked at the board.

He folded.

One of the other remaining players folded immediately after. Then it was just Ryan and Marvin.

Marvin looked at the pot then at Ryan’s chips. Looked at the board with its two sevens and three nines and did the same math Ryan had done.

"You have a nine," Marvin said.

"That would be a thing to have," Ryan said.

"You’re not going to tell me."

"Not really the format for that."

Marvin leaned back. He had the stillness, it showed he was genuinely thinking rather than performing thinking, and Ryan respected that even as he held his own face steady and kept his breathing at exactly the pace it had been all evening.

"You’ve never played poker," Marvin said.

"That’s what I said."

"And you raised eight thousand on the last card."

"I did."

"So do you have the nine," Marvin said, "or are you the most convincing liar I’ve met in twenty years of this game."

Ryan didn’t respond.

The room was completely silent now. The party had essentially stopped. Zara was in the front of the spectators, arms loosely crossed, watching. Priya was beside her. Even Seth had stopped doing whatever Seth had been doing.

Marvin looked at his cards one more time.

He pushed them forward.

"Fold," he said.

Ryan pulled the pot toward him. He flipped his cards over as he did — not required, but he did it anyway.

The nine of clubs. The four of hearts.

The table stared at it. A nine and a four. Three of a kind with the nines on the board, yes — but the four was completely useless. It was the minimum possible version of the hand he’d represented.

And he’d raised eight thousand on it.

Freddie made a sound like the air had gone out of him. "You raised eight thousand with a ’four’ in your hand."

"The four wasn’t relevant," Ryan said, stacking chips.

"What if I’d called?" Marvin said. His voice was even but something behind it wasn’t.

"Then I’d have won and we’d be having the same conversation," Ryan said. "Just with more money in the middle."

Christian, who had folded early and been watching since, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. He looked at Ryan with what appeared to be genuine interest for the first time.

"You said you’ve never played," he said.

"I haven’t."

"Then how did you know he didn’t have the seven."

Ryan looked at Freddie. "He held his cards way too tightly to like them." He looked back at Christian. "If he’d had the full house he’d have been relaxed. He wasn’t relaxed."

The table was quiet.

Marvin was looking at Ryan with a different quality of attention than before.

"Deal the next hand," Marvin said to no one in particular.

The dealer dealt.

Ryan picked up his cards.

A king of spades and a king of diamonds.

He put them back down and kept his face doing nothing at all.

Inside, he was trying very hard not to smile.