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As the poker game entered its final hour, Drake, already down $2.5 million, was dizzy and delirious.
No matter what trash hand he was dealt, he would yell "All-in" and dashingly shove all his chips forward.
And every time, Leon would smile and fold, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a heads-up showdown.
This made Drake furious and anxious, both frantic and helpless.
After multiple all-in attempts, he was finally finished off by Jordan with a pocket pair and carried out on a stretcher, figuratively speaking.
At the end of the four-hour session, Drake took the title of "Biggest Loser," down $3 million.
In the interview session that followed, the state senator praised him as the most caring philanthropist of the night. "If Las Vegas holds such an event next year, we will definitely invite you again!"
"Sorry, Bro." Bruno Mars looked lost, following Leon out of the studio like a puppy.
"Sorry for what?" Leon asked.
Like Drake, Mars had made a handsome profit early in the game. But as his confidence swelled, his playstyle became more extreme.
After Leon won the massive $2.8 million pot, Mars got swept up in the intense emotions, his blood boiling.
Deluding himself with the thought "I can do that too," he made a series of ridiculous plays, trying to replicate that stroke of genius.
The result was hitting a wall repeatedly against sports superstars like Jordan and James, who weren't short on cash.
He lost nearly $2 million, happily taking the "Second Biggest Loser" spot.
"I might not be able to pay you back that money..." Mars lowered his head, daring not to look Leon in the eye. "I thought I could kill it tonight, but you saw the result... My financial situation isn't ideal right now."
More than two months ago, he signed a copyright mortgage agreement with Apocalypse Rights Management, exchanging the publishing rights of all singles from his debut album Doo-Wops & Hooligans for a $15 million interest-free loan.
Now, there was only half a month left until the deadline.
If he couldn't pay it back, the agreement would officially take effect.
That god-tier album, with three chart-topping hits on the Billboard, would no longer belong to him.
"Good, good, good..."
While secretly cheering in his heart, Leon encouraged Mars, "This is just a temporary setback, my friend. Cheer up! There's no child who cries every day, and no gambler who loses every day!"
"As long as you develop a mature strategy, sooner or later you can win back everything you lost at the table!"
This encouragement reignited Mars's passion. Everyone around him—parents, assistants, girlfriend—was advising him to stay away from the gambling table.
Julie, CEO of Atlantic Records, had even threatened him privately, "If you sneak off to Las Vegas again, I'll chop off your fingers! As long as you still have your throat, you can make money anyway!"
A hopeless, degenerate gambler can't listen to such advice.
Just like retail investors trapped in the stock market, they believe that no matter how much they lose, as long as they don't close the position, it doesn't count as losing money.
Gamblers operate on the same logic, paranoidly believing that as long as they can still get to the table, the chance to win everything back is still there.
"Bro, thanks for your encouragement. You're different from those guys who pretend to care about me. They only point fingers at me and never truly understand how I feel inside!" Mars said.
"I'm not that great, buddy..." Leon's expression suddenly became serious. "But I have to remind you, never let emotions dictate your judgment. Poker is just entertainment; you have to focus on your work!"
"I understand, Bro! You moved me so much; I'm going to tape these words by my pillow!" Mars's eyes were shining, moved beyond words.
"I heard your new album is on the way?"
"Yes!" Mars puffed out his chest, his dejected expression switching in a second. "Although your recent performance on Billboard is unparalleled, my new album won't lose to yours! It will stun everyone!"
"Believe me, no one in the world looks forward to this album more than I do..."
This sentence was absolutely from the bottom of Leon's heart.
As long as the other party couldn't quit his gambling addiction, given their current close friendship, there was a high probability that this album would eventually fall into his hands too.
He patted Mars on the shoulder and walked onto the makeshift stage in the hotel to accept the post-match interview.
Flashlights immediately converged on the stage. As the second biggest winner after Jordan, Leon stood in the center holding a donation certificate printed with the number "$1,500,000."
Immediately afterward, the big shots hosting the event came up to take photos with the guests one by one and deliver closing remarks.
Sheldon Adelson, the low-profile founder of Sands Corporation, did not show his face. Instead, his wife, Miriam Adelson, gave the speech.
Most hostesses of wealthy families either hide behind the scenes to educate their offspring or become trophy wives who only know how to spend money.
But Miriam was different. She was the biggest brain behind her husband. At least half the credit for Sands Corporation's dominance in the Las Vegas gambling industry belonged to this woman.
It was under her advice that Adelson sided with the Republican Party (Elephant) and reaped benefits, and successively bought Nevada's largest newspaper, the Las Vegas Review-Journal, and Israel Hayom.
"On behalf of Sands Corporation, I thank the guests who participated in this event. With your generosity, we have raised over $5 million for environmental causes and youth rights across America!"
Thunderous applause erupted from the media and staff below the stage.
Miriam adjusted her gold glasses, turned her head to smile at the guests, and said, "Especially Mr. Leon and Mr. Drake. The two young men played the most unforgettable hand tonight. Let us pay tribute to these two young men who are so passionate about public welfare."
Everywhere her gaze landed, people clapped frantically like seals.
Leon stood up and waved at the camera with a smile, while Drake still looked like he had lost his soul, barely squeezing out a smile uglier than crying.
Miriam's speech wasn't long; she finished everything in just three minutes, paying tribute to the celebrity participants one by one.
Leon did not attend the subsequent banquet. He planned to fly to Los Angeles overnight to solve another problem there.
Just as he exchanged numbers with Jordan and said goodbye, a capable-looking middle-aged woman walked towards him—Nevada Democratic State Senator Anna.
She was one of the key figures who facilitated this charity tournament.
"Are you leaving now, Mr. Leon? We haven't had a proper chat yet." Anna held a champagne glass, the wrinkles on her face bunching up with joy.
This charity poker tournament was even more exciting than expected, and it had a good effect on enhancing the influence of the Democratic Party in Nevada.
Since the millennium, the Democratic Party's approval rating in this state had risen rapidly, making it an important swing state.
Before this, for a long time, Nevada had been a Red State under the influence of the Adelson family.
In the 2008 election, Nevada turned completely Blue, and all 6 electoral votes were bagged by the Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama.
This was also an important reason why the Adelson family had to reconsider their political stance now.
"I don't want to leave this beautiful city either." Leon shrugged. "But I still have important work. I'm very sorry, Senator."
"I totally understand." Anna took a few steps forward and whispered, "I finally understand why Mr. Charlie strongly recommended you as a guest. That incredible hand was just like a movie!"
Hearing Charlie's name, Leon remained calm on the surface, but inwardly shouted "Fck."
In the past four months, he had attended at least nine public welfare activities linked to politics. The other party seemed determined to tie the name of Street Jesus to politics.
Thoughts were thoughts, but he still had to keep up appearances.
The smile on his face didn't change at all. "Give my regards to Mr. Charlie. Leon Smith is happy to contribute to the future of this country!"
"I will definitely pass on the message." Anna smiled. "In fact, I just spoke with Mr. Charlie on the phone. I praised you as a kind and charming young man..."
---
After leaving Las Vegas overnight, it was already 1 AM when the plane landed at LAX.
As soon as Leon returned to the Beverly Hills mansion, he didn't even have the energy to wash up and fell onto the bed to sleep.
Less than six hours later, he was awakened by continuous phone ringing.
"Damn..."
Picking up the phone, his iMessage inbox was flooded with messages from Taylor.
The ex-boyfriend scandal had fermented rapidly within two days. Every corner of the social network was filled with ridicule and insults directed at her.
As long as one leached onto this hot topic, whether it was a Twitter post or a YouTube video, the likes would skyrocket.
In a recent concert, a large number of anti-fans mixed into the audience.
Holding up humiliating signs printed with "Snake," "Slut," "Junkie," etc., they threw mud, condoms, and other even more excessive things onto the stage.
This caused Taylor's will to become increasingly depressed, leading to frequent low-level mistakes during her performance.
At one point, she had the idea of temporarily terminating the tour.
[Don't do stupid things. Your reputation will be restored soon.] Leon replied.
The Speak Now World Tour started in February this year. Over 90 concerts had been held, covering three continents.
Now only the Oceania leg remained. It could be perfectly concluded with less than 20 shows.
Giving up halfway meant destroying the perfect reputation accumulated previously.
[I still can't believe that bastard would do this to me. Could there be any problem behind this?] Taylor replied.
What wouldn't a junkie do?
Leon sneered and replied: [Very likely. Once I find Monteith, the truth will come out.]
Intimate relationships between people are built on dependence. In the past, Monteith depended on Taylor's fame, and now he depended more on drugs.
Perfect, pure, eternal love only exists between a junkie and drugs.
---
At 9 AM, Leon was leisurely drinking coffee in a high-end restaurant in Beverly Hills, with a copy of the Los Angeles Times beside his hand.
A few minutes later, two young black men with tattoos on their faces and wearing oversized casual pants walked in.
The restaurant was full of wealthy white people in Los Angeles. The sudden appearance of the black youths attracted everyone's attention; they were out of place with everything here.
The black youths scanned the room and quickly locked their eyes on Leon.
Although wearing sunglasses, he was the only man here not wearing a suit.
The black youths quickly recognized that the man in front of them was the incredibly popular Street Jesus, a close friend of "Saint" Robinson.
The two black youths hurried over, their lips trembling as they were about to shout Leon's name, but were stopped.
"Shh..." Leon lowered his voice. "Don't mention my name in public. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Understood!" The two black youths nodded in unison.