Some decisions don’t knock—they stare back at you from a glowing screen and wait.
Carl Previti knew the numbers weren’t lying, and that was the most frightening part. He stared at the computer screen as if it might blink first. The projections were cold, clean, and merciless. Traffic was down. Cash flow was drying up. The business he and Janie had dreamed into existence—late nights, borrowed faith, and too much coffee—was sinking fast. Twenty thousand dollars. That was the number that kept pulsing in his head like a warning light. Enough to save the launch. Enough to lose everything. Another loan was impossible; the bank manager had already delivered that smile people use when the answer is no. The savings account sat untouched, a quiet promise meant for emergencies, not desperation. Vegas hadn’t crossed Carl’s mind until it suddenly had—one hand of blackjack, a clean decision, win or walk away forever. He imagined Janie’s face if it worked. He imagined it if it didn’t. Risk, he realized, wasn’t about recklessness; it was about choosing which fear you could live with. The clock on the wall clicked toward midnight. Carl shut the laptop, grabbed his keys, and wondered if fate respected courage—or only odds.
Writer’s question
If you were Carl, would you protect the dream by walking away—or risk everything on one impossible hand?