The house was a *pazo*, a traditional Galician manor built of grey granite.

My family had owned it for three generations, though we rarely used it.

Inside, the air was cold and smelled of damp stone and beeswax.

I left my suitcase in the hallway and went straight to the small study at the back of the house.

I turned on the desk lamp and sat down.

On the screen of my laptop, the financial news sites were already updating.

The headlines were clear.

*Horizonte Capital Convenes Emergency Board Meeting.*

Underneath, the analytical articles described the sudden panic among the institutional investors.

Lucia’s public statements in Barcelona had acted like a match thrown into dry brush.

The regulatory filings she had leaked showed a pattern of unauthorized offshore transfers signed by Alvaro.

I opened my email.

Matthew had sent another message, sent three hours ago from a burner account.

*They are voting now,* it said. *Alvaro tried to block the meeting, but the independent directors overrode him.*

I looked out the window at the gray garden.

The wind was shaking the camellia bushes, scattering pink petals onto the wet slate paths.