I looked down at the black leather folder on the seat next to me.

Inside was a signed retainer agreement.

I had spent the last three months preparing for this exact hour.

“I will have your name dragged through every paper in Spain,” Alvaro said. “You will be left with nothing.”

“We will see,” I said.

“Inés—”

I hung up.

I pressed the button to power off the phone.

The screen went black.

I looked out the window at the passing streetlights of the Paseo de la Castellana.

The rain was coming down harder now, washing over the stone facades of the bank buildings.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my second phone.

This one was a burner, cheap and unregistered.

I dialed a number I had memorized weeks ago.

The call rang twice before a woman answered.

“Yes?” she said.

“It is done,” I said.

“Has he discovered the safe?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “He is with Matthew now.”

“He will contact his lawyers within the hour,” she said. “The commercial team at Madrid.”

“Let him,” I said. “Are your people ready?”