A photograph of Alvaro appeared next to a headline about a judicial freeze on Horizonte’s local bank accounts.

The anchor on the screen looked grave.

Even without the sound, her expression told the whole story.

The Montero name was officially toxic.

My phone rang again.

The caller ID showed an unknown number with a Madrid area code.

I answered it and put it on speaker.

“Inés Valcárcel?” a young man’s voice asked.

“Who is calling?” I said.

“This is Alejandro Sanz from *El Mundo*,” the voice said. “We have reports that your husband has left his office under police escort, and that Horizonte Capital is facing an immediate bankruptcy filing. Do you have a statement?”

I hung up without speaking.

“They are calling my personal number now,” I said.

“How did they get your number?” Lucía asked.

“Matthew,” I said. “Or perhaps someone at the firm who wanted to buy a favor from a reporter.”

I took the SIM card out of my phone and set it on the kitchen island.

The silence in the room became heavier.

Lucía was staring at her own phone, which lay on her lap.