A low rustling sound came through the line.

It sounded like paper sliding across a wooden desk.

“I hired a team,” Alvaro said. “Men who don’t show up on the Horizonte payroll.”

I knew the type of men he meant.

They were ex-military, high-priced recovery specialists who worked in the shadows of the Swiss borders.

“They went to Matthew’s apartment first,” Alvaro continued.

My heart stopped.

“Where is Matthew?” I asked.

“He is right here,” Alvaro said. “In my office.”

There was a brief pause, then a wet, heavy cough echoed through the speaker.

It was Matthew.

He sounded weak, his breath rattling in his chest.

“Inés,” Matthew whispered.

The line went quiet for a second, then Alvaro’s voice returned, closer to the microphone.

“He was very cooperative once we showed him the bank transfers,” Alvaro said.

“He didn’t take your money, Alvaro,” I said. “He never wanted it.”

“No,” Alvaro agreed. “He didn’t. That is what puzzled my security team at first.”

I looked down at the street below.

A black sedan was parked near the corner, its headlights switched off.