I unlocked the door with the spare key card and stepped into the dim room.

A single bedside lamp was lit, casting long shadows across the floral wallpaper.

A moment later, there was a soft, frantic knock at the door.

I opened it.

Lucía stood in the hallway, her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks in dark strands.

She wore a beige trench coat that was heavily soaked around the shoulders.

Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, making her look incredibly pale.

She stepped into the room quickly and closed the door behind her, leaning her back against the wood.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her chest heaving.

“Sit down, Lucía,” I said, gesturing to the small armchair by the radiator.

She did not sit.

Instead, she pulled a thick manila envelope from inside her wet coat.

Her hands were shaking so violently that the paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.

“I found these in the private safe in the Barcelona office,” she said, thrusting the envelope toward me.

“Before Alvaro’s security team locked down the building.”

I took the envelope.