Influenced Kidnapping

     Sean loved to gamble.

     Poker was his weakness.

     For his “real” job, it could be said that Sean gambled, professionally. Mostly with other people’s money. He was a finance bro, if you will.

     Sean and his girlfriend, Sofia, for New Year’s Eve this year, decided to go to Tulum, Mexico, to, as Sean said, “Get away for a bit and get after it.”

     Per Sean’s advice, they expensed the exotic trip – flight, food, jewelry, clothes, alcohol, cigars, everything, well, almost everything – on account of Sofia being, legally, according to actual government business documents, an Influencer. What she did her best to influence, was the coaxing of about 18,000 strangers on the internet to buy things that offered them the illusion they too could look like her; totally, undeniably, ravishingly, hot.

     Now, to be fair, there existed plenty of other professional influencers who, in addition to being ravishingly hot, were brilliant as well. Strategic, calculating, organized, hard-working individuals who truly leveraged their hotness to make a killing in business.

     Sofia, however, was not one of these influencers. In exchange for her efforts to influence, she received more DMs from guys that wanted to fuck her than dollars earned.

     For the record, about 150 guys – complete strangers on the internet – would privately message her each month. 

     To be fair once more, Sofia knew this, too. She wasn’t dumb, by any means. She regularly made the distinction – at least in her mind – between that kind of influencer, the true professional, and what she was doing. Just from watching any influencer on the beach, or in front of a waterfall, or wherever else one might use as a backdrop, she could tell right away. The hard-working, hustling ones often had boyfriends that were quite clearly not as hot as them, but who were ever-willing and quite good with a camera. She knew there was a certain kind of power in having a boyfriend that thinks he’s the luckiest guy in the world to be with a girl so hot, and as such, will happily hold a purse or phone or, preferably, a high-end camera and drone, and take endless pictures of them, and never complain.

     And then there was the other kind of influencer, like Sofia, who enjoyed the status of it all, and loved the idea of having a boyfriend equally as hot. Her boyfriend – Sean – not only was he drop-dead hot like her, like straight off an Abercrombie bag, which Sofia loved, but he was rich, too. Able to afford them both a wildly lavish lifestyle that Sofia shallowly imagined all her friends forever envied.

 

     Anyways, as expected, the trip from JFK to Cancun went off without a hitch. Seated business class all day, all the way baby, as Sean liked to say, he drank nonstop the whole flight. Eight airplane bottles worth of vodka sodas in four hours. When the flight attendant gave some polite pushback when he asked for the 7th round, he said, loudly, did she know how much he paid for these seats? Now he’ll take a double this round, thank you very much.

     Sofia, perpetually bubbly, especially when she shared videos of herself online, which she did about 10 times a day, had a few mimosas.

     Before even landing in Cancun and making the drive to Tulum, they had a helluva time.

     Loud enough for the whole first-class cabin.

 

     Like the plane-ride, their first day and night on the beach also went off without a hitch.

     Sofia lost count after turning 100 heads, happy with the ratio of heads turned to heads not turned. Pretty much every guy that saw her, and plenty of women, checked her out.

    For their part, Sofia and Sean checked out a fair number of people, too. Sofia took special notice of a particularly hot duo that seemed to be a walking billboard. They were dressed in his and hers matching styles with a big sack draped over the guy's shoulder. It struck her as a cool new way to model and sell clothes. 

     As Sean and Sofia walked down the beach together, the sky fiery orange with the sun setting over the jungle, Sofia said, “I wish we could do this every day. This is just so beautiful.”

     Sean agreed.

     As Lady Luck might have said to them, if she were able to so clearly speak: be careful what you wish for.

     That night, Sean, alongside Ryan, one of his buddies who flew down two nights earlier, did about a 3-wood’s length of cocaine. Again, he had a helluva time.

     Partying in Mexico that night and the prospect of lounging on the beach all day the next day drinking cervezas was exactly what he needed to get away from all the cocaine and alcohol and work back in New York.

     At about 3am, frosty as all hell, Sean was feeling it and in doing so, couldn’t hold it in any longer. Over the loud bump of jungle beats playing coolly throughout the club, he belligerently asked the bartender: “Hey! My man! Where can a guy find a good game around here?”  

     The bartender stared back blankly, as if to say: game?

     “You know,” Sean caught on, “poker. Where’s there some high-stakes poker. I know you gotta know. There’s gotta be some action around here.”

     In response, the bartender raised an eyebrow, looked Sean over, as if he were examining his being, his destiny. The bartender held up a finger, effectively saying: wait here.

     “My man,” Sean said, taking a sip from his twenty first drink of the day/night, this one a passionfruit margarita. By the way, once they got to the beach, Sean switched from vodka sodas to all different kinds of margs.

     The bartender came back and handed Sean a folded-up receipt paper.

     “Hey bro, I’m not closing out. What’s up?”

     The bartender looked down to the paper, raised his left eyebrow, saying: read it, you dumb shit.

     A dull lightbulb metaphorically flashed above Sean’s head. He unfolded the paper, struggled to read its contents given his state of mind. Eventually he managed to work it out.

     At the top of the note was a local phone number. The rest of the note read:

 

            Call your taxi driver, Manuel, at 5pm 

            Tell him to go to the No Limit Ruins

            Rules: no limit Texas Hold Em, 25k 50k small/big blinds

            Buy-in: $500k usd / check or crypto accepted

            May cash out after 2 hours of gameplay, if not already bust

            Unlimited buy ins

            Passport required upon entry

            Bring your girlfriend

 

     Though it was mostly just the cocaine and cigarettes and cigars and alcohol, Sean could feel his heart race as he came to understand what he was reading. “My, MAN!” he yelled to the bartender again, this time holding out his hand for a high five.

     The bartender just stood there, slowly mixing a drink, leaving the drunk American hanging, and gave the poor soul a slight chuckle, just one, as if to say: good luck, you dumb drunk mother fucker.

 

     The next day, Sofia didn’t know enough about Sean’s financial situation or the situation they were driving to, to give any reason not to go. She knew he liked to gamble.  So what. She liked to shop. They both liked to eat out and party. He seemed to have enough money to support all of those habits and more. She figured they were driving to another regular game, like one at the casino.

     Though, about 30 minutes into the car ride, Sofia developed a real bad feeling in her stomach. The taxi picked them up at their beach-front hotel, drove straight through town, and were now on a long and narrow dirt-road. There was no development out here. Just dense green jungle on either side of the car. And the sun was setting. She nudged Sean in the side, leaned over, whispered in his ear, “Babe. Where are we going?”

     “Don’t worry about it,” Sean said, at normal volume, loud enough for Manuel to hear. “Going to play some poker, right Manuel?”

     “Uh,” said Manuel. “Si.”

     “See, babe. It’s all good.”

     But Sofia couldn’t ignore the feeling; like that of a worm crawling through her. It definitely didn’t feel all good.

     She didn’t even have any service this far out. She couldn’t connect to anything online. “They better have wifi,” she said, wanting to share at least some of her discomfort with Sean.

     The things she did for him.

     Finally, they got to their destination. The taxi pulled off the dirt road and up to a large walled gate. Sean and Sofia could see a massive limestone wall, about 12-feet tall, that stretched off in both directions through the jungle. A large iron gate lay embedded in the wall, in front of which stood two guards, each armed with assault rifles. They were fully geared up; but weren’t wearing any official police or military insignia.  

     The uneasy feeling in Sofia’s gut grew from a worm to a snake. “Babe,” she whispered loudly as one of the armed guards approached the car, “what the fuck did you get us into?”

     “Don’t worry,” Sean said, doing his best to sound confident, failing miserably. “They need security out here for these games, babe. It’s Mexico. High stakes big baller type shit.”

     Manuel said something to the armed guards, they radioed someone else, and the gate swung open. As the car entered the premises, Sofia whispered, “I don’t know, I just don’t have a good feeling about this. Did you even tell anyone where we’re going? What about Ryan?”

     “I mean yeah, I told him about the paper from the bartender and everything, but I don’t think No Limit Ruins is a place on the maps, babe. But look, it’s all good. This place is baller.”

     From what they could tell, Sean was right. They drove down a winding paved driveway with immaculately manicured gardens on either side. Throughout the gardens there were peacocks, yes, fucking peacocks, grazing about. Sean gained a bit more of that confidence back. “See babe, this place is dope. Fucking baller. It’s all good.”

     Sofia was forced to relent it did actually look exciting. As the house – the mansion, no, the villa – came into view, she pulled out her phone and started taking video, just for when she got service again and could share her extravagant adventures with her adoring fans. She took a few dozen selfies as men in tuxedos escorted them from the taxi through the foyer, down a hall, past a billiards room with a full bar manned by a lone bartender, and into what she imagined was Sean’s wet dream of a man cave.

     Fine cigar smoke filled the air. The quietly lit place was built of brown leather and beautiful rich dark hardwood, green felt and hidden money. Dotted throughout the room were a roulette table, a craps table, two blackjack tables, a pool table, and room for darts in the corner, all unoccupied, their individual chandeliers un-aglow. This room, too, had a full bar – also manned by a lone bartender – which had an adjoining lounge area with high-tops and chic leather couches. Atop a few of the tables stood unused hookahs waiting for bored partners of players, who were looking for something to do to pass the time. There were four other women in the lounge area, all lounging about, staring off into space. Two of them appeared to be talking. In the middle of the room, underneath the only illuminated chandelier, stood a large poker table. There sat five men, all important and powerful looking, and a dealer, wearing a neon see-through green visor, white button-down shit, red silk vest, and green bowtie.

     After surrendering their passports to someone who took the all-important documents to a different room, Sean was escorted to the poker table, Sofia to the lounge area with the other women. Sofia’s escort left his hand on the small of her back for a few moments longer than Sofia was comfortable with.

     An hour and a half later, Sofia was miserable. She had no idea how Sean was doing. She wasn’t allowed over to the game, the other women were boring and she couldn’t make conversation with any of them, and for god’s sake, this place didn’t even have any wifi. So, she contented herself by sitting there, sipping her bubbly rosé and snacking on the veggies and hummus she ordered from the kitchen, thinking about the guilt trip she was gonna give Sean for this whole thing, how that’d translate to another great day shopping, and how that would lead to a great blog of the best places to shop in Tulum (that she wouldn't finish). So, all things considered, her being miserable was really just a ruse. She didn’t care. In fact, the whole power vibe of this gangstery poker place kind of did it for her.

     Sean, for what it’s worth, actually wasn’t doing all that bad.

     In fact, he managed to hold his own for well over 6 hours of gameplay. Him and this other guy – Sean called him Glasses in his head, on account of the man’s pitch-black aviators – had been going head to head, each amassing quite the sum. Other players shuffled in and out, and Sean and Glasses were the only two to get and maintain piles of chips that at least tripled their initial buy-in.

     It never crossed Sean’s mind to call it quits and walk away with the massive winnings he’d already realized. Instead, he kept playing, while others came and went, calling it quits after making it 2+ hours and still having some of their money left. Everyone that came and went to the table was noticeably respectful to Glasses. Not so much to Sean. They barely recognized his presence.

     Of the players that left over those hours, two went completely bust going all-in after being up quite a bit. One got called by Sean, the other by Glasses. Glasses’s pot was much bigger than Sean’s, as three other players were making bets on that hand. 

     Now, four players remained.  

     Sean was sitting at 1.4 mill, a good investment on his initial 500k, and this other guy, Glasses, he had what Sean estimated to be 8.5 mill. Sean couldn’t be quite sure about the exact figure, but between his stack and that of his opponents, he could see this other guy had more than Sean’s entire net worth.

     Finally, as Sean had been praying for, Lady Luck showed her face.

     Sean was dealt pocket aces.

     The flop was Ace, Ace, Jack, with Ace Jack suited diamonds.

     Fucking quad aces for Sean. It took everything in his body not to convulse and show the ridiculous good fortune on his face.

     Sean did a quick mental calculation. The only thing that could beat what he already had would be a royal or straight flush. Unfortunately, that’s on the table given the flop. But, there’s less than a .04% someone else at the table was dealt King/Queen, King/10, Queen/10, all suited with the Jack and Ace of diamonds on the flop, and that they’d land what they needed on the turn or the river. And those were what Sean would call fan-fucking-tastic odds. Bet the pension fund type of odds.

     Sean had to play this cool.

     He made a modest raise, hoping someone would bite, and god almighty was he pumped when it came to this other big shot at the table, Glasses, and the dumb idiot raised back. Another 200k.

     Sean, clearly, called. Though not after giving it some extremely practiced thought.

     Then, the turn.

     A 10 of diamonds.

     Fuck.

     That meant the royal was alive.

     But what were the odds this fucking guy would have hit that, on the same hand Sean hit quad aces? In a legit game of poker, Sean knew it was 1 in 2.7 billion, or, .00000000037%. He just knew poker odds like that. Though, Sean never considered this might not be a legit game of poker. He’d been too self-absorbed to notice how shifty and amazing the dealer was with his hands and the cards, among the other hundred or so signs he should have seen.

     So, given those fantastic odds, he’d be an idiot to not milk this hand for everything he could get out of it. Then cash out. Fuckin’ big baller style.

     The bet came to him. He didn’t want to go all in right away, in case it scared Glasses off. Sean raised: $500k.

     The two other players had folded after the turn. All that remained this hand were Sean and Glasses. After Sean raised, Glasses, the stones on him, he raised back: $750k.

     Ok, Sean thought. Either this guy is the luckiest guy in the world, which I doubt, or he’s trying to bluff me outta this pot. There’s still the turn, which could help with the flush, but for real, those odds are ridiculous. So, this is Sean’s shot. He’ll go all in, the other guy’ll fold, or bust out – with maybe trips or a full house or something like that – and Sean would be set.

     Sean pushed the rest of his $1.4 million into the center of the table. “All in,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest, trying not to show that on his face.

     And god damn Glasses made things interesting.

     He likewise pushed all of his chips into the center: “Raise,” he said, immediately. “9.2 million.” Then, after a slight pause so everyone at the table could catch their breath, he added in a thick Spanish accent: “Got the stones, kid?”

     Now, according to the house rules here, Sean could sit tight and only match what he put in the pot so far, or, he could call the raise, effectively promising he had the finances to back it up.

     Okay, Sean had to strongly consider the ridiculously low probability that this guy actually had a royal flush, or that he would hit it on the turn. Either that or he was bluffing, which was about 99.999999996% more likely. This was Sean’s opportunity to go crazy big time, practically quadruple his net worth in one night. He could set up his own fund, start doing some serious investing on his own dime. Then, interrupting his train of thought, the dealer said, “Sir, per the rules set forth, you have two options: You may check at your current bet, $1.4 million, or you may call, adding $7 million 800 thousand, due immediately upon completion of the hand.”

     Shit. Sean had to think fast. Though, understandably, given the stakes at hand, the table would accept a certain amount of deliberation, given he strained his face hard enough to show he was carefully pondering his actions.

     But Sean was never one to carefully ponder his actions. Or the fact that his actions inevitably had consequences. What Sean was actually pondering in that moment was what he was going to do with all his money. He never stopped to consider that he didn’t actually have that much money available to cover the bet, in the ridiculously low probability that he lost.

     “Call,” he said, ready to jump for joy.

     “Sir, you are good for the $7.8 million?” asked the dealer, who seemed to know Sean was not.

     “Yeah man, I’m good for it!” Sean lied.

     “Okay, please, turn your cards.”

      Sean flipped over his pocket aces with more confidence than he’s ever had his entire life, expecting Glasses's face to drop at the site.

     Instead, Sean’s stomach flipped itself when he saw Glasses let out a tiny smirk as he turned his hand, revealing the king and queen of diamonds. A royal flush. The dealer didn’t even need to flip the river.

 

     The next few hours were a painful blur.

     Sean panicked, quickly revealed that he didn’t have the money, but, and he swears, he’s good for it. Seriously. He’s good for it! Just let him make a few calls. Give him some time.

     Glasses, and everyone else in the place, all of whom apparently worked for Glasses, weren’t buying it. Four towering men in dark suits emerged from nowhere. Two of the men stood practically on top of Sean as they applied their nonverbal pressure. Without laying a finger on him, everyone present knew Sean had no fight to give, and there was no flight from the situation. The other two men grabbed Sofia by each elbow, led her to Sean, holding tightly the whole way. The two hulks standing next to Sean grabbed and lifted him by his elbows, and off they all went.

     Sofia was too scared to make a sound. As was Sean. She just kept flashing him frightened looks, screaming with her eyes, what the fuck did you do to us!? What the fuck is going on!?

     They were practically dragged down the hall, through a side door, and into an office-library of sorts. One of the giant men fiddled with a few certain books, and the 14-foot painting on the wall slid over to the left, revealing a sturdy windowless wooden door. One of the guards opened the door, Sean and Sofia were thrown into the windowless white room, and the door slammed shut behind them, followed by a few thundering locks.

     Sean, in all his brilliance, twisted the doorknob on their side, as if to solidify just how fucked they actually were.

     By this point, Sofia was starting to hyperventilate. The room they were in was a bright dull white, fluorescently illuminated, and there were two metal chairs on one side of a metal table. Four security cameras in each corner were prominently displayed as the only wall decorations. Once the door sealed them in, Sofia kept saying, over and over again, not even really talking to Sean, “What the fuck did you get us into? What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!”

     A moment later, the door opened, the four large men entered, followed by Glasses himself. They circled Sean and Sofia like cattle dogs and cajoled the two trapped sheepish Americans into the metal seats. Glasses stood opposite them, separated by the cold metal table. Two large men flanked him on either shoulder. Glasses was creepily calm and authoritative. Slowly, he removed his aviator shades, revealing two deep brown penetrating eyes. The threat of violence and pain, suffering and potential death were evident in the way he carried himself. “Do you have my money?” he said.

     Sean did another quick calculation in his head. Accounting for his bank accounts, the small amount of crypto he owned, the 100k he personally had tied up in the market, and the gold jewelry he had bought for Sofia, he was still about $6.1million short. He wasn’t some kind of trust fund baby. His parents were only able to pay for his entire ride through college, after decades and decades of backbreaking work. He knew Sofia’s family didn’t have any money, either. And his friends wouldn’t bail him out here; they always warned him he was starting to bet a bit too rich for his blood. He was fucked.

     “Well…” said Glasses, though not displaying any signs of impatience. It actually seemed as if he were enjoying this. As if it was cosmic retribution that he be in a position like this over these disrespectful tourists.

     Anyways. This was the painful blur part: Sean told Glasses everything. Exactly how much he was worth, all the things he could sell back in his apartment, how much he earned each quarter, and how he would live on ramen and Gatorade until he paid back every cent he owed, plus interest.

     In response, Glasses simply signaled to his men with a nod of his head. One of the men walked around, extremely casually, and front-kicked Sean straight in his chest. Sean went flying back, slammed against the wall, and crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

     Sofia started screaming bloody murder.  

     One of the other men came round and bear hugged her from behind and held her back as the other three brutes started kicking and stomping Sean.

     Sean thought he was going to die right there. It certainly felt like he was going to die.

     “Hey!” Glasses finally yelled, stopping the men. “What’d I say! Not his face!”

      Glasses then let out a frustrated snuff, and the five of them walked out of the room and locked the door, leaving Sofia in shock and Sean spitting up blood.

     Soon enough, Sean and Sofia resigned themselves to the fact that they were indeed totally fucked.

     Sean curtailed any speculation that they were going to be killed, looking at it as good news actually. “If they wanted us dead, babe,” he said, his sides now throbbing every time he so much as moved, “they probably would have done it already.”

     An hour or so later, the men came back.

     Sean and Sofia stayed on the ground in the corner of the room when the men entered, Sean laying down, resting his head on Sofia’s outstretched legs.

     “Clearly we do not want you dead,” said Glasses to get the conversation going. “What kind of businessman would I be if I killed every man that owed me money? No. No. We have better plans for you. And you were quite right earlier, Senor...” he held out Sean’s passport, as if he hadn’t already memorized everything on it. He carefully made a gesture to read over the name: “Sean. Marshall. You are going to pay me back.”     

     At this, Sean actually felt relief. Relative to the position he was in only a little bit ago, things were looking up. He wasn’t going to get brutally murdered tonight.

     “But,” continued Glasses. “You will not be going back to New York. Neither will you,” he held up Sofia’s passport, “Sofia Young. No, no. You two will stay right here, and work for me. Until you pay off every. Last. Cent.”

 

     Glasses then lay out the terms of their new situation, which was clearly non-negotiable.

     First, he explained that they were not allowed to go back to New York and earn money there, because, as Glasses has experienced before, people conveniently stop all connection and payments with him, thinking they’re safe in another country. Glasses further explained that he was not in the business of extradition and holding people accountable from afar. No. it was much easier to keep his indentured servants close at hand. And in fact, thanks to the new-money rich tourists flooding the area – like Sean and Sofia – there seemed to be new, more legal industries popping up. Glasses detailed it was quite easy to get beach-goers to spend hundreds and hundreds of US dollars for a piece of clothing worth maybe $3, $4 tops. So, no. With bodies and faces like Sean’s and Sofia’s, they could earn their pay back in other means.

     At this point, Sean thought he was having a nightmare and he would wake up any moment and he vowed he would never do drugs or gamble ever again. But the nightmare continued.

     No, said Glasses. What Sean and Sofia are destined to do, all day every day, until the money is paid back, which will likely take forever, is walk the beach. They are to wear and model the overpriced clothing, carrying sacks of what they were wearing, in all different sizes, and sell them to rich tourists on the beach who dreamed of looking as ravishingly hot as them.