CryptoSpain promoter asks victims to drop their complaints

CryptoSpain promoter asks victims to drop their complaints

What do you say to someone who has lost their life savings? Álvaro Romillo, the man behind the alleged scam known as CryptoSpain, has sent victims a message that sums up his position: step aside, withdraw the complaints and forget about the money, because in the future they will find very different projects thanks to what they have learned. Just like that, no anaesthetic. Spain's National Court has frozen an account holding €29 million linked to Romillo, according to information released about the case, as part of an investigation tracking an international network of transactions.

The scale of the affair is hard to pin down. Figures circulating speak of a fraud of between €300 and 600 million. The law firm Zaballos Abogados has asked Spain's Anti-Corruption Prosecution Office to act, representing more than 600 victims of the alleged scam channelled through the Madeira Invest Club. The case remains under court secrecy, which partly explains the media silence surrounding a hole in people's wealth of this magnitude.

What CryptoSpain was and how it lured investors in

The structure did not rest on a promise of returns alone. According to the account circulating among participants, there were real businesses on display: consultancy services, courses, memberships and conferences. The investment club was paid for separately, with membership fees of one or two thousand euros. Inside, specific transactions were offered: exchanging crypto for fiat money between individuals, with a 4% commission on each side — 8% in total for a ten-minute job — plus the buying and selling of high-end watches and cars. All of this generated returns that were partly distributed among members.

The firm's official story spoke of returns of 53% without paying taxes. That was the hook. It was also the trap: anyone promising that kind of return free of the taxman is not selling a financial product, they are selling a fantasy with an expiry date.

The safes that vanished and the day the servers went down

The episode marking the point of no return has its own date and mechanics. According to the account circulating, the promoter claimed the servers had failed and that, for privacy reasons, there was no record of who had contributed what or how much. Without that trail, there was no way to return anything: to hand over funds, he demanded the original ID and documentation which, he warned, he would have to report to the Tax Agency immediately. The structure built to evade taxes suddenly became a machine for informing on its own clients.

Added to this is the story of a premises in Madrid packed with safes where members could deposit whatever they wanted without anything being recorded. There is talk of gold, weapons and cash. The day the man in charge disappeared, so did the contents of those safes. No inventory, no traceability and no way to claim anything back.

The businessman who lost five million and the letter from the tax office

Among the victims there is mention of a businessman from the mattress industry for whom the scheme would have cost five million euros or more. The figure is baffling: how do you hand over that capital to a manager with no contract and no guarantees? The answer going around is uncomfortable: you hand it over when, for years beforehand, you have been sold the idea that the tax office is the enemy and that there is a parallel circuit where money yields more and leaves no trace.

The problem is that the complaints have left a trail. With the case now open, the tax authorities have the identity of those who invested and can require them to justify the origin of the funds. The paradox is striking: the complaint seeks to recover the money and, in the process, exposes whoever put it in while looking the other way. Some analyses suggest that this loss could be offset for tax purposes in future tax years, but the process comes with a review attached.

Media silence and court secrecy

A scam worth hundreds of millions and barely a whisper in the media. The most repeated explanation is procedural: court secrecy limits what can be published. Added to that is an attempt to drag the case into political territory, with a €100,000 donation to a protected official which would force the case to be moved up to the Supreme Court. Turning an investor fraud into a jurisdictional dispute complicates the focus.

Meanwhile, the promoter's message keeps circulating: withdraw the complaints, forget the money, learn the lesson. Some read it as a plea. Others read it as what it appears to be: a warning that whoever holds the evidence of their clients' tax offences still has something to negotiate with.

In the end, the most expensive lesson is not paid for by the one teaching it. It is paid by those who put up the money — and on top of that they get the tax bill for having tried to dodge it.