So, my boss and I are investigating a cheating case across the border in California.
We show up to this enormous mansion, it’s at the top of a hill. We get cleared through security, and after a drive up the extravagant tree-lined path the husband is waiting for us. He’s looking pissed as hell and for some reason he’s in a bathrobe. There’s an older brown Mexican woman standing beside him. She appears to be a housekeeper. We make eye contact.
The husband is already at a 10. “THANK GOD you’re fucking here! My wife, she-”
My boss quickly stops him from making a scene. “Let’s go inside and talk in private.”
So the husband leads us inside and takes us into a meeting room.
“Tell us everything you know,” my boss asks as we sit. His voice is bored. The two of us have done countless cheating investigations. They kind of lose their drama after the eighth time you discover a husband with a secret porn ring or a wife with a lover in Australia.
“I told her to take a vacation so I could hire you guys while she was gone. I know my wife is cheating on me,” the husband is literally wringing his hands. “I don’t know who the guy is or how she gets him in past security, but they do it in my house. She’s acting so smug lately, like she used to after we… y’know. Sadly, we stopped being intimate after my doctor said-”
“Okay,” now I’m interrupting him. I do not want to know that information. “Have you asked any of your house staff what they know or may have seen?”
The husband rolls his eyes. “None of them speak English. How would I ask them anything?”
My boss just looks at me, exhausted. I get up to go find the housekeeper from earlier.
We immediately switch to Spanish.
“What the fuck is going on with that puto mierda?”
She’s been dying to tell me. “So the wife is cheating with the vice-president of the husband’s company. She sneaks him in through the window near the garden where there aren’t any cameras. They fuck in the wine cellar when cabrón is watching sports. They have been doing this for three years.”
I nod. “Do you have proof?”
“Just go to the ‘wine cellar.’The husband never goes down there. The only people that do are us and… you know.”
We go. As soon as I open the door I’m greeted with a VERY pungent smell and endless amounts of BDSM equipment. An A-frame, stocks, swing, it’s literally a sex dungeon.
The housekeeper turns to look at me, pointedly. I’m in so much disbelief that the husband has never discovered all this in three years or bothered to ask his staff that I have no clue what to even say.
“I’m telling you this not because I care about the husband,” the housekeeper makes sure to clarify, “but because the wife is a piece of shit who underpays us and I want to see the husband possibly kill his best friend. I am old. It will bring me joy before I die.”
We return to the meeting room, and I must have looked off because both my boss and the husband stopped talking to look directly at me.
“Yeah, I have something that you need to see. And I’m going to have to charge extra for pain and suffering damages.”
Moral of the story: Watch Parasite the movie and never ever underestimate the fearsome power of a latina who hates your guts and loves telenovela
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