“Vela does not take family disputes,” Alvaro said, his voice faltering slightly.

“It is not a family dispute anymore,” I said.

“I gave him the complete digital records of the Andorran accounts,” I said.

“The ones containing the wire transfers to the panamanian shell companies,” I added.

I heard him draw in a sharp, ragged breath.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered. “That would ruin you too.”

“I am a lawyer, Alvaro,” I said. “I know exactly what my liability is.”

“And yours is infinitely worse,” I said.

“You have twenty-four hours before Vela presents the formal petition to the prosecutor,” I added.

“Inés, listen to me,” he said, his tone shifting from anger to a desperate negotiation.

“We can talk about this,” he said. “We can reach an agreement.”

“We are past agreements,” I said.

“What about the apartment in Sarrià?” he asked suddenly.

My grip tightened on the phone, but I kept my voice flat.

“What about it?” I asked.

“I know what you kept there,” he said. “My people are on their way there now.”

“They will find whatever you left behind,” he added.