The second trip to Cuba, we brought our wives. The girls safely relaxing at the hotel, my friend and I hit the streets in search of cigars. A cigar sign flickered above a seemingly abandoned shop. Inside was a small room filled with cigar cases and a makeshift smoker setup. A waitress continually popped in and out of a door in the back. After persistent pleading, she finally let us through to an opulent lounge filled with well-to-do people and massive bodyguards. We ordered shots for everyone. A bodyguard approached and led us to a secluded area for questioning as day turned into night. Conversation around workouts and wine eventually thawed the ice. It was then we learned the truth—they were part of the Colombian cartel and had suspected us of trying to poison them. We left the lounge hours later, hearts pounding, reminded of the importance of remaining calm in the shadowy underworld of Havana and in all adverse environments.