My assessment still stands, although I was a little early in the execution.
Waiting, seeing the daughter, deadly hungover from the night before, having prematurely celebrated my victory a little too thoroughly...
Explaining my theory, swearing her to silence - no one shall know of this, NO-ONE! YOU UNDERSTAND!! NO ONE! WE'RE GOING TO BE RICH!!! RICH!!!! RICH!!!!
We weren't going to be rich, it was going to be a lot of boring work that would be entirely undercut if they knew what we were up to...
I explain it. She's doubtful. I prove it to her with spreadsheets and numbers and reassure her that - despite all evidence to the contrary - her Pa's a genius...
Head on down, take your place at the table, make your bets.
...it goes. This is the long boring part...
She speaks up - "Why not try #32?"
I ignore her. "Because it's not on the list...."
The croupier calls out..."#32..."
I look at her. She punches me.
A few more spins, again - "#29" she tells me, then changes her mind when I pile the chips. Chips off the table, the croupier calls it:
"#29"
This is getting to be a bit much. She refuses to assist me any longer, my precog-daughter, 7th daughter of a witch for sure, and my theory, it evaporates with my pile of chips on the table.
Running the numbers back at home, trying to figure out what went wrong...I should have fucked my theory and went with the daughter's guts.