“Go ahead,” I said, though my stomach tightened. “There is nothing there that can save you.”

I ended the call before he could reply.

I stood up and walked to the small balcony door, pulling the curtain aside slightly to look down at the street.

The street was dark and quiet, the wet asphalt reflecting the yellow glow of the streetlights.

I knew Alvaro was panicking now, and a panicking man made mistakes.

But I also knew about the vulnerability in Sarrià.

I had left several files there in a secure lockbox, files that I had not yet transferred to Vela’s firm.

More importantly, those files contained documents that linked our Barcelona operations directly to others.

Specifically, they contained the signature of Lucía Rivas.

If Alvaro’s people got to those documents first, they could destroy them, or worse, use them to frame her entirely.

My burner phone buzzed again in my pocket.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was another text, but this one was not from Matthew.

It was an unknown number, and the message was short.