It was obvious to anyone who saw them together that Karina Kirkhart adored her father, according to police interviews after his body was discovered in his hotel room in Atlantic City. Christopher Kirkhart had inherited a small fortune from his father and owned several small companies. He wasn't exactly a Rockefeller or a Vanderbilt, but he existed on the fringes of their social circle. Karina had grown up in this gilded life, doted on by her widowed father. Her mother had died shortly after giving birth to Karina, and Christopher had never remarried. The energies and attentions of his personal life were entirely focused on Karina. 

She lived in one of the more exclusive neighborhoods in New York City, privately tutored in history, literature, latin, and the social graces that a young lady of the day was expected to know. She played the flute, learned how to dance, and spent as much time as she could with her father. They traveled through the country quite a bit, and she'd even joined him on a trip to Italy. He was a good, kind man- but every man had has vices.

Abstaining from sex after the passing wife and never being much of a drinker, perhaps he should have been more careful about the lures of gambling. It began slowly at first. He'd always alternated regularly between winning and losing money- but his losses began increasing- and he became desperate.  His addiction to gambling had spread throughout Christopher's body like a cancer. What had begun as a fun distraction, written off as paying for entertainment, had become a cancer. He was addicted to the highs of winning, sure. But he was also obsessed at winning it all back. If he could just get on that one, lucky streak... then he'd stop forever... but he never would until a bullet forced the issue.

Vacation homes were sold- explained to Karina as profitable business decisions. His investment accounts were plundered to cover short term debts for casinos. The only thing left was Karina's money, which was set up to ensure she lived comfortably his entire life, as well as the funds set aside to pay for her education next fall at Radcliffe College. He resisted touching that for a long time. He would sweat every time he approached a casino, or saw private card games at the parties he intended. He would grit his teeth and turn away. He would think of his daughter, who was now 17. A beautiful young woman with a bright future.

But the first time he couldn't pay his monthly expenses? He panicked. He'd just do it one last time... and when he won, he would replace every cent of the money into Karina's accounts and never touch it again. Besides, he had a system. Bet a small amount, then double it every time he lost. What were the odds of losing so many times in a row? It was perfect. He brought Karina with him to Atlantic City- perhaps for luck, perhaps to assuage his guilt and remind him of what was at stake. His daughter, wearing a black dress, received quite a lot of attention from the young men on the gambling floor. Christopher beamed, not doubting that he'd win enough today to pay for the wedding of her dreams.

His plan was working to perfection. By doubling his bets whenever he lost, he was able to continuously bail himself out. When he'd lose two or three times in a row, his losses were wiped out by the larger victories. After a while, he began to feel confident. His system was working to perfection. He would ride out the tough spots and pocket pure profit in his winning streaks. But eventually- he hit a wave he couldn't handle. He remembered Karina sipping on a glass of champagne, kissing him on the cheek, and walking outside. He felt guilty- she had no idea her future was on the table. But he was winning! He'd nearly doubled it... just a little more, and he'd stop.

The first loss. He honestly barely noticed. Double the bet, automatically.

The second loss. Whatever. Double the bet.

The third loss. Damn it. The next one would hit.

The fourth loss. Shit! He really needed that next one to hit.

The fifth loss. He started to feel it. The burning, aching sensation in his heart and his stomach. The panic. He'd felt this before, though, and it had worked out fine. All he had to do was win once. Just once. And it would be okay.

The sixth loss. It was at this point that he felt like he was in an elevator whose cables had been cut. Frantically, he looked around for Karina. His losses were so astronomical at this point that he didn't even have enough to double his bet. Quickly, he called the casino manager over him. A few quick phrases, the way he'd elegantly produced his checkbook, and the charm he poured on soon had them convinced that he could easily cover the cost of the next bet. His voice was steady, but his world was on fire. It would be okay. It would have to be okay. What were the odds of losing seven coinflips in a row? 

The seventh loss. Everything was gone. More than everything. He could hear some woman at the table saying "aww" as he blinked and stumbled away. It was surreal- like he was floating above himself, observing. How could you saw "aww"? "Aww" was for when you had a bad day. Not when you lost every penny you had and ruined your daughters life. When you were deeply, impossibly in debt to the man owned this casino. Him... He could still feel his chest burning.

How could this have happened? How could it have gotten this far? He desperately wished that he could rewind this day, even with all his other losses from his past. He'd never gamble again if he could- although a shrill, reedy voice inside him seemed to say this was a lie.

What could he do? He walked over Karina. She was flirting with a young man in a tuxedo. She'd marry into money. She'd be fine. But how could he pay for the wedding? What else did he have to sell? He had two  mortgages already, and he'd already fired most of the servants. She had to know. He had to tell her.

He pulled her away from the young man, mumbling something about needing to talk. He looked at her grey eyes and he started to well up. How could he have done this to her? They needed to be in private. He held her hand and took her upstairs to the hotel. On the elevator, he tried to plan out what he'd say. How does one even broach a topic like this? When he arrived at their room, he paused. The door was open a crack. Was it being cleaned? He slowly pushed the door open.

A man was sitting in a chair directly facing him. He was dressed immaculately, with tanned skin and perfect hair. He was one of those older men whose only sign of their age were a few wrinkles around the eyes and a couple streak of grey near his temples. His green eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the light from the hallway, as he looked up and saw the Kirkharts enter the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Kirkhart. Please have a seat on the bed."

The man smiled winningly.

"And this must be Karina. I've heard stories about your beauty, Miss Kirkhart. I'm happy to see that they're not exaggerated in the slightest. You remind me of a poem I read by-

A cough from a second figure, now emerging from the balcony, cut him off.

"John... getting off track?"

The Kirkharts blinked as this second figure flipped a lightswitch and illuminated the room. An attractive young woman, a redhead, dressed in an evening gown walked toward the man and rested a hand on his shoulder. He smiled and gestured toward the bed. For the first time, they could see the gun resting on the arm of the chair.

"Please... sit."

Christopher did his best to keep Karina behind her as he spoke, his voice breaking.

"Please... my daughter... she's only 17... she doesn't have anything to do with this."

The older man looked at Karina and could see some compassion in his eyes. Compassion that fought against what he considered his duty.

"I'm not going to kill her, Mr. Kirkhart. I don't even want to kill you."

Karina began quietly crying at this. The man continued to explain, his voice silky- but with a fierce strength behind it.

"You owe me, Christopher. I told you what would happen. You've lost millions here and I sat you down and told you to quit. Now you come back- and my understanding is that you don't even have enough to pay me what you lost."

Karina looked at her father, shocked, as the man in the chair continued to speak.

"So how do I settle the balance between us? Only with your death. When you die, your companies' stocks will plummet. Between short sales and takeovers, I should be able to get my money out of you."

He paused.

"And of course, I'll have to take all the money you set aside for your daughter."

Now it was Christopher's turn to look surprised. The man in the chair continued speaking, as the red-haired woman looked uneasy and walked over behind the Kirkharts.

"I'll let you goodbye. But make it quick."

Christopher turned desperately to his daughter. She'd started to speak to him, to beg him, to demand understanding, and he began to cry, pulling her into a hug to hold her.

"Karina... Karina... I'm so sorry. This was all my fault. I'm sorry."

In the books, there was always a big, dramatic speech. But they could really only cry in each other's arms.

The redhead walked over to the man in the chair, speaking quietly.

"Keats... let me get her away from here, huh?

He nodded, picking up the picking on the arm of the chair. He continued to converse with the redhead in whispers for a short while. Eventually, the woman came over and rested her hand on Karina's shoulders.

"C'mon, hon. Time to go."

Karina stood, still pleading at both her father and the man in the chair, as the woman guided her out into the hallway. The redhead sighed as she closed the door.

John Keats and Christopher Kirkhart looked at each other for a long time. Eventually, Kirkhart spoke.

"The... you said you stole her money- the money that I used..."

Keatslooked down at the gun in his hand.

"She's going to lose her father today, Christopher. And she'll hate me regardless. Better that she thinks I took it, and she keeps her good opinion of you. No?"

Christopher nodded slowly, mumbling his thanks. The last thing he saw was Keats, with a troubled expression on his face, raising his gun and pulling the trigger.