“They can,” Benicio said. “But this isn’t photoshopped. You know it hasn’t been altered. This is your mother and I. She loved me, and I loved her.”
My hands shook as I turned the photo over, reading the handwriting. My mother’s handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere.
With love, Eileen.
Her name. I looked up at Benicio. “What do you want from us?” I asked, no longer accusatory and angry. Now I wanted to know why he was here.
“She and I were everything to each other,” Benicio said. “That was a long time ago. Seeing you here, it was like seeing a ghost.” His voice cracked.
“Why am I just meeting you now?” I couldn’t imagine why my father would tell me that all his family members were dead.
“It’s a long story,” Benicio said. “And the reason I brought you here. That, and also I needed to ensure you were protected.”
“Protected from who?” Blaze asked. I could tell he was still pissed off at the way Benicio had taken us from the cabin.
“My father said someone was trying to kill me - the person who killed my mother,” I said, suddenly tense. What if Benicio was the one who killed her?
Benicio’s expression turned dark. “Yes,” he said. “That is exactly what I fear.”
“Then who is it? Who killed my mother?”
“I have my suspicions,” Benicio said. “If I tell you the story, I think you may agree with me.”
“Why not just give me the name and be done with it?” It was beyond irritating, the way this man approached the conversation, casually, like we were lingering over a four-course meal. I wanted to know what information he had about my mother’s murder.
Benicio sighed. “I think it would be much better if I told you the whole story before I told you who I suspect.”
Blaze touched my arm. “Dani,” he said. “Let’s listen to what he has to say.”
I reached for the scotch, swallowing, feeling the burn of the alcohol on my throat. “Okay, go ahead.” Whatever his tone, Benicio didn’t strike me as a liar.
Benicio leaned forward, arms on the desk. “How much do you know about your father, about where he came from, what he does?”
“He came from Panama, years ago,” I said. “I’ve asked him about it, and he told me not to ask questions. Just like everything else. You're always asking too many questions, he said.” I paused. “Shipping. I don’t know exactly what he does, not anymore. I’ve been in college. Things could have changed in the past few years.”
Benicio nodded. “And what do you know about the history of Panama?”
“A little bit. Daddy rarely talks about it. Mom used to tell me stories of living there before they moved here.”
Benicio looked at Blaze, who shrugged, palms in the air. “I know other areas of history," Blaze said. "But Panamanian history is not one of them. I know how to find the country on a map, and that's about it.”
“Well then,” he said. “You’ve heard of Manuel Noriega, of course.”
“Sure,” I said.
He looked at Blaze, clearly unsure whether Blaze knew who Noriega was, then returned his gaze to me. “Manuel Noriega was a military dictator of Panama during the latter half of the eighties. Your father and I were promoted to powerful positions in the administration, positions in economics and finance.”
“The U.S. invaded Panama in the eighties, didn’t we?” Blaze asked.
Benicio nodded. “Yes, but I’ll get there in a moment. General Noriega was extremely pragmatic, motivated by money and power. Corruption was rampant through the administration in those days. And your father and I? We were not innocents, but what can you do?” He shrugged. “If Noriega and others were going to get rich, we were going to get richer.”
“How?” I asked.
“Your father, my brother, was one of General Noriega’s most trusted advisors. He handled the money. He was the one who suggested buying property in Paris to launder money.” Benicio shook his head. “The French, they didn’t end up taking kindly to that. It was a mistake on Guillermo’s part.”
“What does this have to do with my mother?”
“Patience, my dear,” he said, and a sad smile crossed his face. “You are remarkably like her in that regard. You have the same impatience she had. She was reckless sometimes, your mother. It was something I loved about her. She was like a wild horse.”
I opened my mouth, dying to ask more about my mother, but shut it again.
“We benefited from Noriega’s corruption, and from our positions in the administration. We funneled money, billions of dollars in drug money. We laundered it, stashed it in offshore accounts, including our own. But your father wasn’t stupid. He never stole directly from Noriega. The money laundering, that was for Noriega. What we did was use all the contacts for ourselves - military, senior officials, shipping contacts, contacts in the PCA.”
“What’s the PCA?” I asked.
“The Panama Canal Authority. The part of the government that oversees the canal.”