Trey Langford was live.

Behind him hung a giant poster mock-up for the Velvet Nine Invitational.

Trey held a waitress vest.

“Put this on for the poster, Nyla.”

He laughed.

“You’re my rack runner.”

Then he lifted the Ashby wall plaque.

“Made by hand.”

He looked toward his followers.

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

One of his friends joked that cheap wood floated.

Nyla heard Trey laugh.

“Cheap wood floats, right?”

She stared at the screen.

Then whispered:

“Maple doesn’t float, Mr. Langford.”

Reign heard her.

“What?”

Nyla looked at Walter’s cue.

“Maple waits.”

She took another shot.

The ball disappeared.

Theo smiled.

“There she is.”

Saturday morning, Commissioner Helena Kovac arrived at Velvet Nine.

She ran the regional professional billiards association.

Strict.

Unimpressed by celebrity.

Trey met her at the door.

“Commissioner Kovac. Welcome to the finest room in Chicago.”

She barely acknowledged him.

Her eyes went immediately toward a large antique woodworking lathe displayed behind glass.

“Is that an Ashby lathe?”

Trey shrugged.

“Some old woodworker.”

He smiled.

“It’s decor.”

Kovac looked at him.

“Walter Ashby made some of the finest cues in this country.”

Trey laughed.

“Then he should’ve kept his shop.”

A voice came from behind him.

“Your offer from Friday, Mr. Langford.”

Trey turned.

Nyla stood near Table One.

No server vest.

Black slacks.

White shirt.

Cue case in hand.

The room became quiet.

She looked toward his car keys.

“One rack for your car.”

“I accept.”

Trey laughed.

“You?”

“Me.”

He looked around.

The Invitational crowd was already filling the room.

Cameras.

Sponsors.

Fans.

Perfect stage.

“Fine.”

He stepped closer.

“But not one rack.”

Nyla waited.

“Race to five.”

People began gathering.

“Saturday Invitational. Live on my stream.”

Trey smiled.

“When you lose, you rack my tables for a year.”

Nyla looked toward the Ashby sign.

“When I win, my father’s lathe comes home.”

Trey’s smile faded.

“That old thing?”

“And the plaque.”

“Fine.”

Commissioner Kovac stepped between them.

“If this is happening during my sanctioned event, I hold the stakes.”

Trey offered his hand.

Nyla shook it.

“Done.”

By afternoon, the poster had changed.

TREY LANGFORD VS. THE WAITRESS

Hundreds of thousands signed into the livestream before the first ball rolled.

Nyla returned to Reign Billiards for one final practice.

Mr. Reign watched her break.

“You’re thinking about Trey.”

“I’m thinking about my father.”

“Same problem.”

She looked at him.

“Meaning?”

“You’re trying to punish one and honor the other.”

He shook his head.

“Table doesn’t care.”

Nyla looked down.

“What does it care about?”

“Truth.”

He pointed toward the cue ball.

“Hit that.”

Theo arrived carrying an old framed photograph.

Walter at his workbench.