The ball bounced around the roulette wheel as it spun, and Travis Dixon watched it with intense concentration, as if he could make it fall into the right slot with pure willpower. When it settled into the nineteen, he straightened with a sigh and ran his elderly hands through his thinning grey hair.

"We have a winner," said the croupier, a Russian-looking man in a smart green uniform. He gathered in the counters with a metal rake, then pushed some of them across the table to an elderly woman wearing large, pearl earrings, who danced with delight as she reached out to take them. She immediately began placing some of them back on the board, seemingly at random, while her husband watched in resignation.

"You should cash in now, while you're ahead," he told her. "That's half a million right there, in front of you. Are you going to just give it back to them?"

"Oh don't be so tiresome, Geoffrey," she replied, still placing counters on the table. "We're on holiday. Relax and enjoy yourself."

Travis Dixon gave her a glance of barely disguised contempt before dismissing them from his attention and placing come more counters of his own on the table. He chose the numbers carefully; five numbers that were adjacent to each other on the wheel, even though they were scattered all across the table.

The casino was expensively furnished, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, statues in classical poses beside the doors and large landscape paintings mounted on the walls. Travis watched with cynical amusement as the other passengers stared around at it all, impressed by an opulence that most of them had only seen before between the covers of lifestyle magazines, and what made it all the more pathetic was that the opulence was fake. The crystals of the chandelier were lead crystal. The statues were plaster cast replicas of the real thing, and the paintings were copies, and yet even this trumpery was enough to overawe these small, unimportant people.

Travis himself, of course, was used to these kinds of surroundings, except that the works of art in the places he normally frequented were real. The people he normally associated with were of equal substance. The rulers of the world. The movers and shakers. The people whose money and connections shaped civilisation, much to the annoyance of the Presidents and Prime Ministers who thought they should have the job. In comparison, being in a place like this was like being a shark in a school of minnows. It made him feel good. It made him feel big, and he liked that feeling. A lot.

"No roulette wheel is perfectly fair", he explained to the pretty, scantily-clad young woman who'd come to stand beside him. The woman he was pretty sure was a hooker. "No matter how much they try to make it. The Romans believed that only the Gods are capable of perfection, and I believe the same thing. Every table shows a slight preference for the ball to land in a certain area, and by observing this wheel for the past several days I believe I have determined this wheel's sweet spot. The twenty eight. That's why I'm betting on it, and the numbers on either side of if."

"That's so clever," said the maybe-hooker, pressing her tanned, athletic body against his.

"Don't pay any attention to his bullshit," said Dixon's wife, striding over from where she'd been feeding coins into the slot machines. "My husband doesn't have a brain in his head. He hires people with brains. Buys companies created by people with brains. Then he claims credit for their accomplishments."

The maybe-hooker wilted under her warning glare and strutted away, to where some men in suits were throwing dice on the craps table.

"I think you forget how I made my first million, Priscilla," said Travis dryly.

"You took advantage of all your daddy's business contacts."

"After his bad investments left him broke. I pulled myself up and started all over again, from nothing."

"And you didn't have to blackmail anyone. You kept all their dirty little secrets out of the goodness of your heart."

Travis Dixon glanced quickly around at the other gamblers, but none of them were paying them any attention. "Watch your mouth, woman," he warned her. "I could dump you in a heartbeat and not even blink." He carried on placing counters on the table.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "You forget, darling," she said. "I know too much."

"If you knew anything that could really hurt me," Travis replied in an equally low voice, "I'd have had you killed years ago. The worse you could do is cause me a little inconvenience. I'd keep you tied up in the courts until you were left penniless. Then dump you on the streets, where I'm sure you'd be perfectly capable of making a good living."

Priscilla went pale and staggered back as if he'd slapped her. She looked around at the croupier and the other gamblers to see if they'd heard, but they were totally engrossed by the ball bouncing on the spinning wheel. Travis smiled to himself. It felt good to put someone in their place. How did rich people ever get bored? he wondered.

"That daughter of yours just took another officer back to her cabin," said Priscilla, as if anxious to change the subject. "I think she's made it her mission to sleep with every member of rhe crew before we get to Rio."

"I can't imagine where she gets that from," Travis replied. On the table, the ball had settled on the seven. He watched impassively as the croupier took away his counters with the rake. He reflected on the fact that the man was currently raking in more money than he would ever own in his life. What must that be like? he wondered. To be so close to that much wealth, and yet be so far away from it. Does it make him feel small and unimportant?

"Don't you ever get tired of losing money?" Priscilla asked him. "How much have you lost here since we came aboard?"

"In the time it takes me to lose a million dollars," he replied without looking across at her, "my accountants have made ten million just by shuffling money around from place to place. I couldn't leave here poorer than when I arrived if I tried. And this time, I might win."

"I'm sure they let you win from time to time, just to keep you coming back."

The croupier gave her a look, but was too professional to comment. "No more bets," he said, spinning the wheel. He then threw the ball into the wheel in the opposite direction.

Travis contemplated the difference between himself and the croupier. He, Travis Dixon, was one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world. Just by moving money around, he could de-stabilise entire countries. Topple governments. He could ruin politicians and company directors with a single phone call. In contrast, the croupier was so small and unimportant that he barely existed at all.

The thought excited him. One word, he thought. One word, and I could ruin him. That's how powerful I am. He was tempted to do so, just for the thrill it would give him, and like every temptation he had ever experienced, he gave in to it with jubilation.

"I think you may be right, dear," he said, therefore, his eyes fixed on the croupier. "This man is a crook." Again, the croupier made no comment.

"You looked at the wheel as you threw the ball," Dixon told him. "By throwing the ball with the precisely correct speed, you can control where on the wheel it stops. I've encountered this trick before in cheap casinos. I didn't expect to find it here."

"I didn't look at the wheel," the croupier replied. "I wouldn't risk losing my job. I get accused from time to time by people having a run of bad luck, but such things are to be expected."

"So you think you're fireproof, do you?" said Dixon, his eyes narrowing in anger. How dare he not be afraid? The pitiful wretch should be grovelling before him. "You think you can cheat me and get away with it?"

"If you have any complaints, please address them to the Entertainments Director," the croupier replied, still not looking up at him. Between them, the ball continued to bounce around on the spinning wheel.

"I'll have your job, you piece of shit!" Dixon spat at him. "You'll never work in a casino again. I have contacts all over the world. I'll have you blacklisted. You'll end your days freezing under newspapers on a park bench, regretting the day you tried to cheat Travis Dixon."

He raised his hand to attract the attention of the casino's manager, who immediately wove his way through the crowd towards him. "How may I help you?" he asked in his crisp, British accent.

"This man tried to cheat me," said Dixon, pointing at the croupier. "I demand that he be dismissed immediately."

"I didn't," said the croupier, his Russian accent growing thicker as his indignation grew. "I would never..."

"Silence," said the manager firmly. "You have damaged the reputation of the Vinland Casino and the entire DFL cruise line company. You are dismissed with immediate effect. You are hereby confined to your cabin, and you will be put off the ship at the very next port we come to. Get out of my sight." He raised his hand to make a beckoning gesture, and a pair of security men, who had been standing against the wall, came striding forward, looking stern and severe. Around the roulette table, conversations were stopping as everyone turned to see what was happening.

"Please accept my most sincere apologies," the manager then said to Travis Dixon as the security men marched the croupier away.  We will, of course, refund any money you may have lost at this table, and I assure you that that man will never work for any casino again. Any casino anywhere."

"Thank you," said Travis, keeping his face straight to keep himself from grinning with glee. That's how powerful I am, he thought. That's what I can do with a single word. "I am reassured by your rapid and decisive action. I'm sure he was acting alone, and that the other employees of this casino are honest."

"We vet all our employees very carefully," the manager assured him. "I don't know how that man was able to slip through. I assure you that we will tighten our vetting procedures to make sure it never happens again."

"I'm sure you will," said Travis with satisfaction. They wouldn't, he knew. They almost certainly knew that the croupier hadn't been cheating, but it still made him feel good that the manager had put on the performance to placate him. He was so rich and powerful that no man would dare call him a liar to his face, and that was good. That was very good indeed.

"Come on, my dear," he said to Priscilla, taking her by the arm and turning her around to face the exit. "I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat."

"Sounds good," his wife replied, allowing herself to be led away between expensively dressed passengers, who moved aside for them. Behind them, the roulette ball settled on the nine; one of the numbers Travis had put money on.