The €3,500 loan that cost €37,000 and a Gijón murder

From €3,500 to €37,000: the loan that preceded the Gijón murder

A 56-year-old butcher allegedly killed a moneylender in Gijón to whom he owed money. The story gained attention not because of the crime itself, but because of the mathematics preceding it: €3,500 handed over and €37,000 demanded. A tenfold increase that sounds like journalistic exaggeration and, judging by reports, falls short. Before the fatal outcome, the debtor had already paid €17,000. Afterwards, he allegedly signed a second loan for over €20,000 with another lender, using his apartment as collateral. Neither of them, according to the account of the case, was a charitable soul.

How do you get from €3,500 to €37,000?

Because money is lent not against the debtor's pocket, but against their assets. The mechanism is old: a small amount is given, disproportionate real estate collateral is demanded, and a contract that almost no one reads is signed with a lawyer present. When repayment fails—or when it's designed to fail—the collateral is executed. The debt isn't collected: the house is taken.

The figure that best explains it isn't the loan amount, but the collateral. There are fully paid-off apartments, free of encumbrances, that end up changing hands for four-figure sums. The business isn't in the interest, even if the interest rates are frightening. It's in the property. And the fine detail of how that contract is tied up, explained step-by-step by someone who worked closely in the sector, is much scarier than the headline.

Why doesn't the debtor simply return the money?

Because in several documented cases, there's no one to return it to. The creditor doesn't provide an account number, doesn't respond to requests, transfers the debt's ownership without notifying the signatory. The agreed-upon deadline passes, and with it comes the execution of the collateral. It's of little use to have the money if the contract sets a date and the collector hides until it passes.

That's the detail that confuses those reading the case for the first time: the moneylender isn't pursuing the payment, but the asset. Someone who wants to collect doesn't hide. Someone who hides is waiting for something else. Classic usury (loan sharking) at least used to knock on the door.

How much can be accumulated with this system?

More than the domestic scale of the issue suggests. Television reports have shown individuals accumulating over 60 properties across Spain using this mechanism, and interest rates of up to 215% have been cited. The structure doesn't require large capital: it requires defaults, notarial patience, and a victim who cannot afford to litigate for years.

On paper, there are notaries, lawyers, and courts involved in each transaction. In practice, everything is signed and seemingly legal. That's the blind spot: the system works precisely because it complies with the law.

Is usury a crime in Spain?

The circulating answer is uncomfortable: the Penal Code of 1995 allegedly decriminalized usury, so the maximum penalty for an abusive lender is financial. Cases are mentioned of individuals with 178 loan entities reported against them, for whom, in practice, the lawyer's fees are more expensive than the conviction.

There's no jail time for those who lend improperly. There is jail time for those who respond with a knife. Between these two asymmetries lies an entire country.

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It's not a problem of good guys and bad guys, although it's tempting to categorize it that way. It's a market that exists because banks close the door on those who can't repay, and because the law that was supposed to monitor that back door stopped looking three decades ago. The €3,500 loan will proceed through the judicial system, if anyone claims it. The crime, too. The part no one will claim is the middle ground: the part that turns a butcher with an unpayable debt into the only link in the business who ends up handcuffed.