Chapter 8: Psychology and Microexpressions

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What Link didn't know was that Wilson Fisk and Alexandra were present largely because of his activities in Hell's Kitchen, which had caught their attention. They had initially intended to cooperate, but had only engaged in preliminary discussions. When the opportunity arose, they decided to speed up their plans, knowing they couldn't afford to let it pass.

New York didn't seem like the best place for their meetings, so they came to Las Vegas for a more secretive encounter. As for Tony Stark and Justin Hammer, they had always been rivals. Their rivalry during a New York gala had prompted both of them to end up here, continuing their ongoing feud.

Organizing a poker game wasn't easy, especially with Stark wanting a skilled player at the table. That's how Link found himself in the mix.

Link, using his psychology expertise, deliberately lost a few hands at the beginning of the game to observe his opponents. Hammer was a fool, easily read, while Stark's strong competitive streak made his actions predictable. Wilson Fisk, on the other hand, was more challenging—being a man who straddled the line between legal and illegal dealings—but even he showed some cracks, appearing distracted. However, Alexandra was the hardest to decipher. Having lived for centuries, she wasn't someone who let her emotions show easily.

Stark, growing impatient, glared at Link. "Are you sure you're as good as they say? You seem more like a drunk."

Link grinned and poured himself another glass of bourbon, half the bottle already empty without any signs of intoxication. "Winning at the start doesn't count as winning," he said smoothly. "Now, Mr. Stark, I'm about to get serious. You'd better be ready."

At this point, Alexandra spoke for the first time. "This Mr. Link has been studying all of us closely. Mr. Link, are you well-versed in psychology?"

Link didn't deny it. "Indeed, I studied psychology in university, and now I work as a police officer in Midtown West. I'm here on vacation, and it's quite a coincidence to be sitting at this table with all of you. I've heard of Mr. Wilson, but Mrs. Alexandra, I don't recall hearing about you."

"I usually stay in London," Alexandra replied with a smile. "It seems I'll need to be cautious. Mr. Link has already completed his observations."

Stark, intrigued, hurried the dealer to start the next hand. As expected, Link began to win. He quickly recouped the million or so he had lost earlier and started raking in even more. At this point, the others began to take him seriously. The money wasn't the issue—losing face was. Alexandra, in particular, couldn't believe that Link had managed to see through her. This wasn't just about losing money; if he could read her, it posed a much bigger problem for her long-term plans.

Wilson, on the other hand, found himself intrigued. This young officer had an impressive grasp of psychology. A man like that could be quite useful.

Before midnight, the others had lost all their chips. Stark, curious, asked, "Link, did you really see through all of us?"

"Mr. Hammer was the easiest to read," Link replied bluntly.

Justin Hammer's face darkened, while Stark burst into laughter.

Link continued, "Mr. Stark, your desire to win is intense. You don't care about the money, but you do care about winning or losing."

Stark gave a slight nod, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

Link then turned to Wilson Fisk. "Mr. Fisk, you were distracted. You had other things on your mind."

Wilson agreed. "That's accurate, Mr. Link."

Finally, Link addressed Alexandra. "The one person I couldn't read entirely was Mrs. Alexandra. She remained the calmest of everyone here, far more so than the three of you."

Alexandra, now intrigued, asked, "But I still lost, didn't I?"

"Microexpressions," Link explained. "I don't just rely on psychology. I'm also skilled in reading microexpressions. People can't control the fleeting emotions that appear on their faces, especially in the eyes. Whatever someone sees, their initial reaction will always flash across their eyes."

He went on, "Then there are the subtle movements of facial muscles—around the mouth, nose, and ears. Unless someone has undergone strict training, those tiny cues always give something away."

Link added, "Mrs. Alexandra, you've grown accustomed to controlling everything around you. But in the end, even you showed a crack, a small sense of doubt."

"That's the trap in psychology," he continued. "Everyone knew I was a psychology expert, but no one realized I was also observing their microexpressions."

"Well done!" Wilson Fisk applauded. "This was worth my time, seeing such a skilled player in action."

Alexandra exhaled, then asked with a smile, "Does that mean there's no way to beat you, Mr. Link?"

"No, you could beat me quite easily," Link said. "Just throw money at me and let luck decide. At that point, it's all about who gets the best cards."

Indeed, with five players at the table, there was always a high chance that luck would not be on his side. Of course, Link could fold and wait for a strong hand to go all-in, but then his strategy would become too obvious, and his opponents might not follow his lead.

The game ended early. None of the players were the type to chase losses, and Link had successfully demonstrated his talents, legitimizing his winnings.

The hotel even issued him a certificate confirming his winnings, proving that the money was earned fairly.

For the remainder of his vacation, Link avoided the casino, choosing instead to relax by the pool, enjoy lavish meals, and watch various shows. The poker game was briefly mentioned by the casino in some promotions, introducing Link as a master player.

The casino, realizing they had underestimated him earlier, chose not to send any top players his way. They didn't want to risk the embarrassment of losing.

…

With three days left in his vacation, Link packed his bags and booked his flight home. The hotel graciously waived all his expenses, on the condition that Link would participate in future high-stakes games.

Link agreed, as long as the buy-in was at least five million dollars. Anything less wasn't worth his time.

Returning home, Link prepared to clean up his apartment, but before he could begin, the doorbell rang.

Surprised, he wondered who it could be. He had only been away for a couple of weeks. Could it be one of the Irish mob's hitmen?

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