A knock. “Ms. Stavros?”
I open the door, and Maria, my first assistant, is standing in the doorway, a file in hand. “The gaming commission numbers for last quarter just came in.”
“Thank you.” I take the file and practically close the door in her face. I’m not one for small talk; I don’t see the point.Returning to my phone, I see a new member is being introduced to the others. Software entrepreneur. She’s nervous, fingers fidgeting with her necklace. They’re always nervous at first.
The outdoor cameras show my neighbor’s Tesla pulling into her garage. Right on schedule. Ruby Walsh, founding partner of Walsh & Associates, Las Vegas’s most ruthless M&A firm. I’ve watched her come and go since I moved in, always alone, always late at night. There’s something compelling about her solitude, the way she holds herself. Sharp. Fragile. Beautiful.
I should be watching the floor, monitoring the high-stakes tables. That’s what an invested casino owner would do. But I’ve hired the best security team in Vegas—ex-military, ex-FBI, people who know what they’re looking for and aren’t afraid to handle it. Besides, the casino practically runs itself these days. My management team has been with me since I opened, and they know how to keep the money flowing. No. What happens in my underground club is far more interesting than watching rich men lose money.
My phone vibrates—Demetria, my younger sister, calling from Greece. I silence it, knowing she’ll leave a message about missing me, about how I should visit more often. The usual guilt wrapped in love wrapped in obligation.
Another knock on my door. “Mrs. Chen is here,” Maria says from behind the door in a raised voice.
“Okay.” I close the security app and smooth the lines of my white silk jumpsuit. “Let her in.”
The woman who enters is new money—her Gucci bag prominent, her jewelry bright. Her company’s IPO numbers are solid, and more importantly, she knows how to keep secrets. I’ve vetted her thoroughly.
“Mrs. Chen.” I don’t offer my hand. “Please, sit.”
She perches on the edge of the chair opposite my desk, trying not to look overwhelmed by the opulence of my office. Every piece was chosen with purpose—the massive black marble desk that dominates the room facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Greek antiquities displayed in subtle pools of light. A bronze Athena stands guard in one corner, her spear eternally ready, her owl watching over all who enter. The walls are dark-wood paneled, and a collection of rare first editions fills the built-in shelves—Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, books that most people only pretend to have read.
I built this. Everything imported from Greece—the hand-knotted silk rug, the leather chairs soft as butter, even the marble came from Athens. The room is designed to intimidate without trying, to whisper power rather than shout it.
“I’ve received your reference,” I say, letting the words hang in the air. My club doesn’t accept applications in the literal sense of the word. It doesn’t even exist on paper. But power attracts power, and whispers travel in certain circles. “Have you read the NDA?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re willing to sign it?” When she nods, I continue. “Tell me why you’re here.”
She shifts, manicured fingers tightening on her purse. “I was told… That is, Sandra mentioned she might be able to introduce me and?—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Tell me why you’re really here.”
Mrs. Chen’s shoulders drop slightly. “I’m tired,” she finally says. “Of pretending. Of holding everything together all the time.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
Now I lean forward. “And what would you do, if you could stop pretending? Just for a few hours?”
The blush that spreads across her cheeks tells me everything I need to know. I reach for a small black card and hand it across the desk. "Thursday. Midnight. The number on the back—call it and a driver will pick you up. Give him the password, it's Hedonism." I hold onto the card for a moment longer, catching her eyes. “What happens beyond those doors exists in a vacuum, Mrs. Chen. No names, no stories, no evidence. Consider this your only warning—discretion isn’t just requested, it’s required. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Stavros. Thank you.” Her fingers close around the card like it’s made of gold.
“Excellent.” I lean back in my chair and shoot her a smile. A real smile, only reserved for few. “We’ll take care of the NDA and payment on the night. I look forward to welcoming you into my circle of friends.”
After she leaves, I turn my security app back on. The evening’s energy is building, and I touch the control panel on my phone, adjusting the temperature up by two degrees. Clothes may come off soon and the slightest details matter.
There’s movement in Ruby’s house, still dark except for a single window. Through it, I can make out her silhouette, pacing. Working, always working. The camera was installed purely for security purposes, positioned to cover the perimeter of my property. The fact that it captures her top floor office is coincidental, yet I find myself watching that window more than I should, even though nothing interesting ever happens. She doesn’t even give me the courtesy of a late-night show. At least, not with the lights on.
I gather my things—my purse, my phone, a set of keys that unlock doors most people don’t know exist. The clubneeds my presence tonight. New members are always more comfortable when they see me there, making sure everyone feels safe. Seen. Protected.
My family back in Greece would have a collective heart attack if they knew that over eighty people have unrestricted access to my home—or at least the underground part of it. All it takes is a code at the gate and a whispered password at the door.
But it works because everyone has something to lose. It’s a delicate balance of power and trust, of knowing just enough about each other to ensure silence. An ecosystem of secrets and safety.
The private elevator in my office opens directly into the underground garage where my Aston Martin waits, its dark-green paint almost black in the low light. A gift to myself when the Olympus’s profits first hit nine figures. The engine purrs to life under my hands, and I take a moment to appreciate the sound.
Sometimes I still have to pinch myself. Sixteen years ago, I was fresh off a plane from Athens with an MBA from London Business School, a useful network of contacts through my late father, and a point to prove. Now I own a piece of the skyline.
THREE
