I could read between the lines. The real estate deals he’d been negotiating for his “VIP client” must have been money laundering on a very high level. Or a very low level, depending on how you looked at it. Juan had unwittingly got mixed up with some vicious, unsavory characters, and I was pretty positive he was working for a man who was working for a man who was working for some sort of money laundering operation, or organized crime syndicate, even a drug cartel. The writing was on the wall, but I had blocked it all out.
It finally made sense, the puzzle pieces slotting into position: Juan’s insistence upon paying with cash for everything. He rarely used a credit card. He’d bought this expensive house. The ring. He had cash coming out of his ears.
“What are you mixed up in?” I demanded.
“Nothing you need to know about, babe. But trust me, I earned this money. It’s mine. And I didn’t hurt anyone. Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things out.”
I’d pulled the wool over my eyes for long enough. “It’s drug money, isn’t it?”
Juan shook his head in denial. “This money itself? No, it’s clean.”
“Bullshit, Juan, please don’t lie to me.”
“Look, this is real estate money.”
“Maybe, but it’s laundered money, isn’t it?”
The sheepish look in his eyes told me I was right.
“I hope to God it’s not money that originated from drug deals,” I snapped. “People getting killed. Children. Families destroyed. Blood money. All-out war. I’ve seen Narcos. I know how vicious it gets. Or mafia. I read somewhere the Russian mafia are everywhere, even in America.”
“Honey, your imagination’s running away with you.”
I said nothing, just stared at his face in the moonlight. How could I believe him?
He squeezed my hand. “Babe, I didn’t plan it this way. When I earned this, trust me, I had no fucking idea who my client worked for. I’m as good as innocent.”
“Take the money back,” I said.
“Impossible. If I do that, I’m a dead man. You think I want to draw attention to myself?”
“A dead man? Great, that’s just great. And it proves to me how dirty this money is. Give it to charity.”
“Ditto, babe. Any financial transactions of mine need to stay under the radar. And not even charities accept chunks of cash anymore.”
“But if I have to keep this secret—”
“Trust me, it’s fine.”
“But what if they come after us?”
“They won’t. My client knew who I was, but all transactions were made under different names. Nobody’ll trace it back to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why did you hide this from me? Ever hear of the word ‘trust’?”
He sighed, a low guttural moan. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you to get involved. The less you know the better. It is what it is now. If anything does happen to me, at least you know it was all worth it.”
Blood rushed to my ears. “You must be joking, Juan. Nothing’s worth—”
“Never, ever, tell anyone about this stash, however much you might trust someone. And don’t get tempted to touch it. Especially if I’m away. That’s my department. Promise?”
I nodded. I didn’t insist on asking more. I didn’t need to. Juan was neck-deep in some very dodgy state of affairs, and it was too late to turn the clock back. All I could do was help, despite my reluctance. He was my husband, what could I do?
“Promise?” he repeated.
“I promise,” I muttered.
“And if anything were to happen to me—”
“Please don’t say that!”
“Nothing’ll happen, babe. I swear. But if anything does, let at least three years go by before you touch it, understand?”
I felt sick. Tears leaked from my eyes. “Did anyone follow you here?”
“Hell, no. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Still, honey, I want you to promise me. I want to hear you say it. ‘I won’t touch the money for at least three years, no matter what.’”
“I won’t touch the money for at least three years,” I repeated, my voice hitching on a sob. “No matter what.”
Juan often left his phone behind on purpose, especially when he took a flight somewhere to do a big deal. He was the one who had alerted me to spyware and how having your phone on you was as good as a GPS tracker. Or how they could listen to conversations, even with it switched off or in airplane mode. For that reason, he often used prepaid “burner” flip-phones and made me swear to never talk about private matters near my cell phone, unless it