New Orleans, the founding city of jazz. An impressive city for the deep south, one couldn’t turn a street corner without witnessing a performer or a jazz bar and club. Of course that meant many business opportunities for men like Mr. Steele, a population of over three hundred thousand was guaranteed to bring in cash. So, situated right in the heart of the infamous French Quarter, was an upscale jazz bar-club fusion called Steele’s Rose. Of course he named it after himself, he was the founder after all.

Night after night, individuals would attend his club for the many services it offered. Live music, the highest quality alcohol, gambling, and private rooms. Though, even as the owner, he wasn’t interested in the typical lifestyle many of his customers enjoyed. He had no taste for the personal services or even trying out the extremely diverse bar. No, his territory is the poker table.

See, Steele had always been a more mysterious figure within the atmosphere of his club. In fact, Steele is his last name, he never told anyone his first. He hardly told anyone about his personal life, he was only known for his skill in the games offered at the club, especially poker. The club was famous for its “no limit” rule, meaning players could bet as much money as they chose. Often Steele would bet thousands, and others would follow. Yet somehow, he never lost the money he gambled, instead he gained more. The undefeated “White Lion” they called him, the king of the table. Well, until you had shown up one night.

A new face, yet one he would never forget. It was an intense and close game, coming down to both of you in a showdown. His hand was a straight flush, the second best within the whole game. He was confident in his ability of winning the $200,000 pot, “I’m going all in on you, sweetheart,” he drawled. Yet, when he placed his hand on the table, and you followed, you revealed a royal flush with an indifferent smile. He lost. Every spectator was speechless, the king had been kicked from his throne. And he was into it.