Her eyes were red.

“He said it was his personal money, from his dividends.”

“Alvaro lies,” I said. “You should have known that by now.”

She let out a bitter, dry laugh.

“I did know,” she said. “But I did not think he would be stupid enough to use Horizonte Capital’s primary treasury account.”

I felt a cold sensation in my stomach.

As a former lawyer, I understood the immediate implications.

“He used the main treasury account?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“For the apartment?”

“And for the Cartier necklace,” she said. “And the paintings.”

She walked to her desk in the corner of the room.

She unlocked the top drawer with a small brass key.

She pulled out a thick manila envelope and held it out to me.

“What is this?” I asked, though I already knew.

“My copy of the signed agreement,” she said.

I took the envelope from her.

The paper was stiff and clean.

I opened it and pulled out the document.

It was a formal cooperation agreement with the state prosecutor in Madrid.