Now, seeing the looks on Mike’s and Jacob’s faces, I realize that I might be in over my head. My first thought is that this is about what I did to Lillian, but the cartel doesn’t seem to care about personal squabbles, as long as they don’t affect business, and I made sure that I always kept my affair with Mike and my friendship with Lillian clear of work.
My mistake—the voice mail to the domestic-abuse center, which undoubtably put some attention on Mike—pokes at me, but again, how would they pin that on me?
I meet Mike’s eyes, and they are afraid and apologetic, and maybe I shouldn’t be the one worried about my mistakes. I take in the scene. There’s a stiff tension in the air, and a half dozen cartel members stand around as if ready for war. Luis is their stark counterpoint in his clean and pressed attire.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” I smile warmly, and my father’s belief that my acting classes were all a waste is proven wrong, once again. Thegreeting comes out smoothly and confidently, and when Luis looks at me, I can tell that he is gauging and confirming my innocence in this—whatever this is—from my poise and calm demeanor. “What’s all this about?”
“We’re trying to move Colorado,” Luis says, and tilts his head to Mike. “Mike says he’s lost the private key to the Bitcoin account.”
“W-w-what?” I gawk despite my best efforts. “What do you mean, ‘lost’?”
“I hid it with a bottle of liquor in our safe,” Mike says dully. “Lillian apparently took it out on the morning she died.”
A bottle of liquor. Lillian apparently took it out.The puzzle pieces click into place, and I think of the box of liquor that was with Lillian when I picked her up. I found it when I was cleaning out the SUV I had borrowed for the task, and recognized it as their anniversary token. I took it home as a perverse F-you to Lillian and toasted the end of their marriage on my back deck, overlooking the ocean. The bottle and box are in my trash compactor, safe and sound until the maid arrives in the morning. My heart beats faster at the realization of what I have. The key to the Bitcoin balance of Colorado, which has to be close to half a billion dollars. I look from Mike’s stricken face to Jacob, who looks as if he is about to have an anxiety attack, to Luis, who has a few beads of sweat along his hairline. For a man who prides himself on staying cool under pressure, that is tantamount to a mental breakdown.
I’m the only one who knows where it is.The power behind this knowledge is staggering, and I slide my hands into the pockets of my shorts so that I can ball them into fists without anyone seeing.
“So.” I clear my throat. “Why am I here?”
“Well, you’re here for motivation.” Luis smiles. “We’re hoping to jog Mike’s memory—plus you know Lillian. Any idea of where she might have put this bottle?” He glares at Mike with clear disgust at him putting something so valuable in such a weak hiding place.
“Because I got to tell you, Sam.” Luis clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Without that key, we’re going to have to start punishing everyone involved. And I’m not saying that you’re involved, Sam ... but we all know the fondness that Mike and you share.”
Punishing. I’ve seen what that looks like. Mike once showed me a photo that Luis sent him, of a developer who had screwed us out of a real estate commission. The man’s eyes had been cut out while he was still alive.
Hmm. The moral dilemma here is tough. I could share that I have the key, but then Mike would know that I saw Lillian after she took the bottle, which would lead to him figuring out that I am the one responsible for her death. Sharing the key would save his and Jacob’s lives but certainly ruin any chance of us getting back together—so Mike would be officially, from this point forward, lost as a long-term relationship prospect. My heart sags at the thought because I truly did see us together. Not in my house—we’d buy a much bigger property and travel. So much travel. Mike always told Lillian that he was afraid to fly, and that was why they road-tripped everywhere, but those road trips had been to cover up items that he was transporting and side errands that he went on. In truth, Mike loves a first-class seat as much as the next man, and we’ve escaped on mini-trips all over the country together. I had anticipated so, so much more, once we were out from underneath her thumb.
“So let me ask you, Sam. You knew Lillian well. Can you think of anywhere she would have put this box and bottle?” Luis stands up and walks in front of me.
My dilemma comes around full circle with the amount of money involved. If my relationship with Mike is dead either way—by his death or by me confessing that I killed Lillian—then shouldn’t I at least benefit from the money? That kind of money is more than life-changing. It is life-creating. It could insulate me with enough security and anonymityto ensure a long, happy, and peaceful life, one of extravagant wealth. I deserve that. I’ve earned that.
“No,” I say weakly—and it comes out perfectly and convincingly. “I ... I don’t have any idea where it could be. But please—maybe if you give Mike some more time, he could figure it out.” I put the focus back on Mike so cleanly, so perfectly, that I have to resist the urge to smile. Sometimes I do that—I give this smug smile that, as my father once said, makes someone want to “section off my lips with a bolt cutter.” Luis seems like he’d be good with a bolt cutter, so I keep my lips pinned together and my eyes concerned. Let’s not forget who is to blame here. Make Mike fix this.
“Mike seems to be struggling with the motivation to figure it out. I think we could help him along.” Luis holds out his hand toward a man in a black T-shirt and a full beard. The man passes him a gun, which he swings toward me. I inhale sharply, but before I can speak, the gun is moving farther left, sweeping past Mike and stopping on Jacob.
Jacob. When I met him, he was a chubby-cheeked twelve-year-old. We bonded over a shared love of crude comedians and action movies. He once confided in me that he found alien women more attractive than real ones. He thinks that his father is a dork and his mother is a horrible cook. He is terrified of high school judgments and opinions. In some ways, he is very similar to a young me. In other ways, I don’t understand a thing going through his head.
It was hard for me to post that video of Lillian. Not because of her—I could give two shits about her. But I understood exactly how Jacob, his friends, and his school would react to this. I understood how deeply it would negatively affect him, and I needed that level of embarrassment—and his reaction to it—to properly damage Lillian and Mike’s marriage.
Now I watch as he swallows, staring at the nose of the gun, and a tear leaks from the corner of his left eye. He shouldn’t have to die for Mike and Lillian’s mistakes. Am I really about to let that happen?
I have the key. I could tell them, right now, and throw myself on the sword.
Throw myself on the sword and lose Mike.
And the money.
And maybe they’ll kill all of us anyway.
I pull my gaze away from Jacob’s face and concentrate on a crack on the concrete floor.
Mike sobs out a plea, and I wait for the sound of the shot.
CHAPTER 72
LILLIAN
I can’t take this. I’m screaming at my husband, at Sam, at someone to do something ... but they are all just standing there, while the businessman points a gun at my son.