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Brody nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re not the first man to ask us this.”
Santiago lifted his eyebrows, trying to look earnest. “That’s why I came here. A friend of a friend said you guys work magic in these situations.”
Alva and Brody exchanged a look. She nodded imperceptibly, and he turned to Santiago. “I think we can help you, if this is really what you want.”
Santiago sighed as though relieved. “It is. What’s it going to take?”
“We’ll talk to your wife,” Alva said. “We’ll make sure she realizes she would be happier on her own. But to do that, we’re going to have to paint you in an unflattering light. Are you going to be okay with that?”
Santiago nodded vigorously. “I don’t care what you say about me. Just get me free.”
“Funny you should use that word,” Brody said. “I hope you can appreciate that when we take on a special project like this, it goes beyond the scope of the fees that you paid to attend the marriage retreat.”
Santiago reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Brody, who opened it and flipped through the bills.
“Four thousand now. Six thousand when she signs the divorce papers at the end of the week.”
Brody passed the envelope to Alva, then smiled at him. “That’s fair,” he said.
“We can’t offer any guarantees,” Alva said firmly. “We will do our best, but for obvious reasons we make no promises.”
“I understand,” Santiago said.
“That means no refunds,” Alva continued. She arched one brow, as though daring him to challenge her on this. “And we ask that you are discreet about our arrangement during the retreat.”
“Of course.” Santiago nodded. “I won’t say a word. I don’t want her suspecting anything.”
“She won’t,” Brody said confidently. “Like I said before, you’re not the only one we’ve helped. The spouses never know.”
He smiled smugly, and Santiago fought the urge to punch the man in the nose. How many people had they hurt, all for the sake of a few dollars?
“Excellent,” Santiago replied. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez,” Alva said. She tucked the envelope into her pocket with a smile. “I’m glad we’ll be able to help you with your problem.”
“Me, too,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He waved goodbye and walked back to the cabin, his body shaking with anger. He swiped across the surface of his camera, turning it off again.
Ainsley took one look at his face when he walked in and stood up from where she’d been sitting on the sofa. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “They accepted the bribe.”
She pressed her lips together, her expression disgusted. “Of course they did.”
“They were so casual about it,” he said, reliving the conversation in his mind. He felt strangely disconnected from the events, even though they had happened only a few minutes ago. “Like it was the kind of thing they do every day.”
“They probably do,” she pointed out.
“Who does that?” he asked, trying to wrap his brain around their casual, callous disregard for the welfare of others. He looked at her, hoping she had some insight as to what made these people tick.
Ainsley’s eyes were full of warmth as she stared up at him. “I don’t know.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm, almost in the same spot where Alva had touched him earlier. Her warmth burned away the hidden stain Alva had left behind, and he felt himself relax. “Try not to waste your time trying to understand them. It’s not worth your emotional energy. All that matters is their actions, and they’ve proven they aren’t trustworthy or decent people.”
“I know, I just...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I guess I’m trying to make sense of this. Don’t get me wrong—I hate what they did to my sister, and to everyone else they hurt. I wish there had been enough evidence for the other people to press charges. I’m not trying to make excuses for them. I just want to know how two normal-looking people decided to go down this path. Did they wake up one day, look at each other and say, ‘Let’s start taking bribes!’ Were they desperate for money? What do they tell themselves so they can sleep at night?”
Ainsley gave him a crooked smile, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“What?” he asked. “Why are you giving me that look?”
She shook her head. “Just remembering law school, and all those times in mock trial when you persuaded the jury to cut your client some slack. You’d always weave a detailed story about their actions, their life, their motivations. You could make even the most hardened killer seem sympathetic when you were done.”
