When my beautiful new husband asked for the thirty years of savings I had never touched, I gave him everything: my bank cards, the passbook from my credit union, and the old ceramic jar under my bed. I had met Adrian Vale at a matchmaking supper, fallen for the quiet way he listened, and married him six weeks later. I knew he was secretive about his past. I didn't know what he was, or why he needed every dollar before the next high tide. By the time I learned the truth, the money was already locked in escrow and the house we'd bought was at risk. I had to decide whether being an honest man meant trusting my husband, or finally asking what he wasn't telling me.