The Truth

“Best guess? Profit margins. It’s always the money.” He points his chopsticks at me, agreeing. “So what’s the best and worst that could happen if you do or don’t take the offer?” I ask.

“Basically, they want both sides to drop the claims and we go back to work like there’s nothing wrong,” Daniel says. “Problem is, this lawsuit’s put the whole damn project eight months behind schedule, and I don’t trust them to complete it.”

“So if you reject it, what happens?”

“We might be able to get by with mediation, but it’ll go to trial, most likely,” Daniel says. “If we lose, we could be on the hook for the rest of the contract plus paying someone else to do the job.”

“And if we win?”

“We get out without having to pay anything, and we hire someone else.”

I chew my vegetables as I think. “Have you ever played serious poker?”

Daniel’s brows furrow at the odd segue. “No?”

“Once upon a time, I went to Vegas with a friend.” I lift a brow, not naming Elle, but both of us know that’s who I mean. “We took a little cash, nothing crazy, mind you, but enough to have fun if we paced ourselves.”

I remember back to the trip with Elle. We had a blast running up and down the strip, taking pictures with every photo op, dancing at strobe-light filled nightclubs at ten in the morning, and daring each other to do crazy things. Well, crazy by our standards, which was pretty tame by Vegas standards. But it was fun either way.

“We did well at first, were conservative with our bets and didn’t sit at the same slot machine all night. But then I won a little, nothing major, but at the time, it would’ve made my college life a lot easier. It was like a switch flipped in my mind. When the money was mine from working and scraping by, I was careful. When it was winnings, I didn’t have the same death grip on them and would take more risks.”

“How does that relate to the settlement?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s already three steps ahead of me, but he’s interested in my take on the whole thing.

“People with their own skin in the game rarely bluff. You know, some guy sits down with a thousand bucks he just got at the slots, he’s going to bet big and bluff like a madman. But when it comes down to a situation where if he doesn’t win, he doesn’t eat? He’ll play smart and tight. He might tease a bluff now and then, but if you press him, he’ll fold before he loses everything.”

Daniel nods in understanding. “So, if this were poker, Carlton might know they’ve got a weak case. Because they’d rather salvage what they can rather than risk their bluff being called.”

“Exactly. It’s a risk either way,” I admit.

“A big risk,” Daniel says.

I reach out, laying a hand on his forearm. “There are times to take risks. When the payoff’s big and the danger’s relatively low . . . you usually end up winning more than you lose in the long run.”

Daniel’s eyes go to my hand and then to my eyes. He knows what I’m saying and that right now, my story has very little to do with construction contracts or Vegas poker tables.

Daniel turns his hand, and I think he’s about to take my hand when his fingers brush against the plastic bag his fortune cookie’s in . . . and he pauses. “Maybe my fortune will reveal some wisdom.”

It’s a redirect and we both know it, but he cracks open his cookie and pulls out the slip of paper. He pauses, then looks at me. “Yours first?”

I shrug, taking the other package and breaking the cookie open. I chuckle. “This place definitely doesn’t do fortune cookies the way I expected.”

“What do you mean?” Daniel asks.

“Mine’s a movie quote,” I explain. “In the end, there can be only one.” I laugh softly. “Guess fortune cookie makers are Highlander fans.”

“Who isn’t?” Daniel asks wryly and then reads his fortune. “Huh. Sports quote. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“Wisdom cookies,” I comment, setting my paper down. “So, are there any shots you want to take?”

Daniel turns his eyes to me, and I realize that I’m truly asking myself that question. We’re here, at this moment. Either I take my shot . . . or I don’t. My future is going to depend on it. I measure the risks and the reward like I used to in poker. The truth is, I don’t know if the odds are in my favor.

I could be burning a bridge here.

But I have to make a decision. Because in the end, there can be only one.

Slowly, I get up from my seat and walk toward Daniel. I give him time to stop me, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes back from the table slightly, turning toward me as I place one hand on the table and one on the back of his chair.