The voicemail notification popped up a moment later.

Then another call came through from the president of the La Moraleja golf club.

They were already clearing their names, trying to find out how deep the water was before they jumped ship.

On the screen, Alvaro slowly reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his private mobile phone.

He stared at the screen for a long time, his face completely blank.

Then, the lights in the Madrid office flickered once and went completely dark.

The video feed cut to static, leaving only a gray grid on my laptop screen.

Lucía turned to me, her eyes wide in the dim light of the Barcelona room.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

The buzzer at the front door of our apartment building rang, loud and sudden in the quiet room.

The buzzer at the front door of our apartment building rang, loud and sudden in the quiet room.

Lucía froze, her hand hovering over her glass of sparkling water.

“Do not answer it,” I said.

My voice was flat, devoid of the panic that sat in the back of my throat.