Matthew’s voice was trembling.

“Sir,” Matthew said.

“Speak up,” Alvaro barked.

“The accounts,” Matthew said. “The Swiss accounts. The ones in Andorra.”

“What about them?” Alvaro asked.

“They are empty,” Matthew said.

I leaned my head back against the leather headrest of the van.

The digital clock on the dashboard read 8:14 PM.

“That is impossible,” Alvaro said. “Those accounts require dual signatures.”

“She had your power of attorney, sir,” Matthew said. “The one you signed last winter during the tax audit.”

I watched a droplet of water slide down the tinted window pane.

I had kept that document in a cedar box in our Madrid apartment for nine months.

“How much?” Alvaro asked. His voice was lower now, dangerous.

“Everything,” Matthew whispered.

“The Horizonte capital funds?” Alvaro asked.

“The operational accounts are still intact,” Matthew said. “But the personal holdings. The offshore reserves. They were cleared out at noon.”

I could hear Alvaro’s heavy breathing.

He sounded like a man who had been struck in the chest.

“There is more, Alvaro,” I said into the receiver.

I wanted him to hear me clearly over the static.