“Do not answer it,” I said.

Alvaro’s hand hovered above the paper, his eyes fixed on the screen.

The buzzing continued, a steady, rhythmic reminder of the world outside.

He reached out and slid his finger across the glass.

He pressed the speaker button.

“Alvaro,” a woman’s voice sobbed through the speaker.

It was Lucia.

“Alvaro, you have to help me,” she cried. “They are here. They are in my apartment.”

Alvaro looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of anger and fear.

“What is happening, Lucia?” he asked.

“They found the money,” she gasped. “The money you told me to put in my name. They say I am an accomplice.”

I looked down at the blue folder.

The pen in Alvaro’s hand was still hovering over the signature line.

The front door downstairs creaked open, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing up the tiled stairwell.

“Alvaro, please,” Lucía sobbed.

The line crackled with static.

In the background, I heard a man’s voice bark an order in Catalan.

Alvaro’s fingers trembled against the glass of the screen.

“Who is there, Lucía?” he asked, his voice cracking.