Chương 51: Chapter 46: Betting on Success

Jack was escorted into Saint's office, much like before. Saint sat behind his desk, stacks of ledgers spread open before him. He was deep in calculation, quietly working through a problem no one else could see. If the intrusion surprised him, he didn't show it.

"Lord Breakwater," Saint said pleasantly, a genuine grin stretching across his face.

"What a surprise. I didn't expect we'd be meeting again so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Jack didn't answer. He crossed the room and withdrew something from inside his coat. For the first time, Saint looked startled. Jack dropped a heavy sack onto the desk. Coins spilled and clinked against one another, the sound unmistakable. The bag was nearly five times the size of the one Saint had paid him earlier that week, and Saint had been more than generous then.

"I'm here to place a bet," Jack said. Saint blinked once, then chuckled.

"I'd love to help you, but as I mentioned before, that isn't my department." His smirk returned, eyes gleaming with interest. If anything, he looked amused.

"Well," Jack said evenly, "today you're going to reconsider. This isn't just a wager. It's your first chance to earn my respect." Saint leaned back in his chair, studying him.

"Alright," he said at last.

"I'll bite. What's the bet?" Jack didn't hesitate.

"Within two months, maybe less, a storm worse than this one will hit Greyhaven," he said.

"And this storm will already be worse than the last. Worse than anything the city has seen." The room went very still. Saint's grin faded, just a fraction.

"What you're proposing isn't a single bet," Saint said slowly.

"It's a parlay. First, that another storm comes within two months. Second, that it surpasses this one. And third, that this storm exceeds the last." Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. He tapped his chin in thought.

"Considering the previous storm was the worst in over a century," Saint continued, "and that Greyhaven has enjoyed historically favorable weather during that time…" He jotted figures into the margins of his ledger.

"I'd say the wager you've just placed would make you the richest man in the city by no small margin," he said.

"In fact, it could bankrupt Greyhaven outright." Saint looked up.

"What makes you so confident? A man like you doesn't throw away money without assurances." Jack smiled. He had him. He told him everything. The storms. The ships. The counting house. What Breakwater had uncovered. What their true aims were. When he finished, Saint's expression had changed. Perturbed. Focused.

"That's quite the tale," Saint said at last.

"And if it's true, it all but guarantees your victory. Still, why would I ever take a bet so clearly stacked against me?" Jack said nothing. He simply watched. Saint stared back, then clicked his tongue.

"You're either a fool, or…" Saint laughed softly.

"A saint. And from what I know, nothing marks you as the former. So now, I have a choice, I can choose to believe you and run for the hills, or I can take the chance that you're lying. Which I am quite sure at this point that you are not. This is a tough position you have put me in."

"Or," Jack said calmly, "you take door number three." Saint looked at him.

"And what would that be?" Jack could see the gears turning in his mind.

"Take the bet." Saint laughed. A genuine, booming laugh that brought tears to his eyes.

"That's it?" he wheezed.

"You must be mad. Or joking. Either way, I appreciate the laugh."

"I am neither," Jack said evenly.

"You're going to take this bet and I'll tell you why. The city has been failing for years, stripped piece by piece by people like you. It's time you start betting on success." Saint's laughter stopped the accusation had tainted the waters.

"Because if you don't," Jack continued, "you may as well take your riches to another city and start over. Greyhaven will cease to exist." Silence. Saint lifted the pouch, weighing it in his hand.

"To do that would drain a considerable portion of my available capital," he said flatly.

"I'd be forced to liquidate assets."

"I'm not finished," Jack said.

"If I win, you don't pay me back. You invest it." Saint's brow lifted.

"Go on."

"You invest in the Dock Ward and in city infrastructure," Jack said.

"After this storm, the remaining slums will likely become nothing more than spillways."

"Those people will need homes and work," Jack continued.

"You will provide both." Saint frowned.

"You want me to give them away?"

"Of course not," Jack said.

"You retain ownership. You lease them back. It's an investment, not charity." Saint considered.

"And where would we build?"

"Old warehouses," Jack said.

"Converted into apartments." Jack paused.

"You'll also buy the slums themselves. With the homes destroyed and new housing available, the price will be low." Saint tilted his head.

"Why buy useless land?"

"Not useless," Jack said.

"Misused. Eventually, the city will realize it needs critical infrastructure. Spillways will become essential." A spark lit behind Saint's eyes. He was starting to understand just how much he had underestimated Jack.

"And who will they come to when they need that land?" Jack smiled.

"You." Saint leaned back, grinning broadly now.

"I'm in." Jack turned to leave.

"One last thing," Saint called to him as he neared the front yard.

"What's in it for you, beyond playing the hero?" Jack didn't turn around.

"Thirty percent." He exited to the sound of Saint's laughter rising once more.