“Who?” I asked.

“Lucia,” Matthew said. “She had a duplicate key to his safe in Barcelona. She gave everything to the press an hour ago.”

I slowly put the phone back on the cradle.

Alvaro took a step toward me.

“What did he say?” he asked.

The wind outside gave a sudden, violent howl, rattling the wooden shutters against the stone walls.

In the distance, down by the main gate, a siren began to wail, its sound faint but distinct through the storm.

“That was Matthew,” I said.

My voice sounded steady, even to my own ears.

Alvaro took another step toward me, his hand slipping into the pocket of his tailored trousers.

“What did he say, Ines?”

The siren down by the gate grew louder, its high-pitched rise and fall cutting through the wind.

“The Madrid prosecutor has signed the warrant,” I said.

He stopped.

His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his white linen shirt.

“The warrant?” he whispered. “For what?”

“Asset stripping,” I said.

He shook his head, a small, involuntary twitch of his chin.