“Is it safe there?” she asked.

“More safe than Madrid,” I said. “And certainly more safe than being near Alvaro when the police arrive at his door.”

I picked up my coat from the back of the chair.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Lucía,” I said.

“I did not do it for you,” she said, her voice dropping.

“I know,” I said. “But it helps me nonetheless.”

I walked toward the front door.

As I reached the hallway, the air in the apartment felt different, lighter somehow.

The weight of Alvaro’s secrets was no longer ours to carry alone.

The state was taking over.

I put on my coat and stepped out into the carpeted corridor of the building.

I pressed the button for the elevator.

Below, the street would be wet, the yellow taxi lights reflecting in the puddles.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a message from Matthew.

Matthew had been quiet all afternoon, which usually meant he was trying to manage one of Alvaro’s crises.

Instead, it was an alert from a private financial news channel.