Tiny Espinho Firm Puts Portugal’s Prime Minister on Trial

Portugal’s left-wing opposition believes the ghost of an old consultancy firm is about to decide the future of the current centre-right government. Mariana Mortágua, the outspoken coordinator of the Bloco de Esquerda (BE), says the legal wrangling around Spinumviva has become the decisive test of Prime Minister Luís Montenegro’s credibility, and by extension the stability of São Bento itself. Courts, contracts and political calculations now intersect in a case that refuses to disappear.

A scandal without an expiry date

For more than a year the name Spinumviva has resurfaced whenever uncomfortable questions are put to the prime minister. Mortágua calls it “the elephant in the room of Portuguese governance”, arguing that unanswered doubts about who benefited from the family-run consultancy will “haunt” Montenegro whenever he seeks public trust. Although the premier insists he is “totally calm”, the BE leader points to every new procedural request from prosecutors as proof that the affair is far from over.

How an Espinho slogan became a legal headache

On paper, Spinumviva is a small firm founded in 2021 in Espinho—its name a playful twist on the fishwives’ cry “É de Espinho viva!”. Capitalised at only €6,000, the company marketed management advice, real-estate deals and even vitiviniculture projects. But what makes the file explosive is the shareholding tree. Montenegro transferred his majority stake to his wife when he took over the PSD, yet, under Portugal’s regime de comunhão de bens, marital assets remain jointly owned. Critics say that thin legal veil never severed his influence. In March the prime minister announced that his children would now own 100% of the business, a move Mortágua derided as cosmetic.

Clients whose fortunes soared with the State

Spinumviva itself has no government contracts, but the fortunes of its customers have drawn scrutiny. ITAU signed €53M in food-service deals, mostly with Santa Casa da Misericórdia de Lisboa. INETUM Portugal clinched almost €39M in justice-sector software orders, while Sogenave saw €8.9M in Social Security and other supply agreements. Investigators want to know whether privileged insights from the company’s network smoothed these wins—an allegation Montenegro calls “pure fantasy”. Still, 56 of the 107 deals were awarded by direct adjustment, a statistic fuelling opposition fire.

Prosecutors turn up the heat

Late September brought a fresh request from the Ministério Público for additional paperwork on property purchases by the Montenegro family, including an Espinho house and flats in Lisbon. Technically this is only a averiguação preventiva—a preliminary review—but lawyers note it can easily become a full criminal probe authorising bank- and tax-secrecy lifts. Mortágua argues that ordinary citizens face rigid deadlines and wonders “why the clock stops” when the prime minister is involved. The government replies that justice must work at its own pace, free from political pressure.

Parliamentary cross-fire and shifting alliances

The affair is scrambling alliances on the right as well. André Ventura’s Chega accuses Montenegro of “dragging things out”, hinting at a future inquiry commission. Rui Tavares of Livre says the premier’s narrative keeps changing, proof that “there is something wrong”. Even the PAN, usually measured, urges the prime minister to drop the victim posture. Meanwhile, Montenegro defends a tough line on immigration aligned with Chega, prompting Mortágua to claim he has “sold his soul” for parliamentary survival.

What’s at stake for ordinary families

For Portuguese households grappling with mortgage hikes and stagnant wages, the saga can look like political theatre. Yet good governance groups warn that every euro lost to influence peddling is a euro not spent on schools, SNS wards or high-speed rail. The controversy also lands at a delicate moment: the government is rushing to table the 2026 budget, hoping to showcase tax cuts, while municipalities campaign for local elections. Any perception of ethical shortcuts could sway undecided voters who, in recent polls, list corruption as one of their top three concerns.

The road ahead

Courts could decide within months whether to open an in-depth investigation—timing that overlaps with the budget debate and the autumn session in the Assembleia da República. If charges emerge, pressure for a new no-confidence motion will intensify. Conversely, an archival decision might hand Montenegro the vindication he craves. Until then, Spinumviva remains the omnipresent backdrop—a reminder that in Portuguese politics, small private firms can cast very long public shadows.