We stood there in silence for a moment, and then I slipped my hand free and walked away.The charities accepted the transfers without asking questions. The property sales closed quickly. I never cared to find out who ended up with the clothes, the jewelry, or the triplex. By then, the woman who had once fought to stay in Adriano Morelli’s world no longer existed.In the years that followed, I buried myself in work.What began as one investigation with my father became a career. I learned the shape of shell companies, false invoices, port laundering, and political money routed through respectable names. I wrote reports that took down men who had spent years assuming no one would ever trace the books back to them. Before long, firms were sending me junior analysts to train.One afternoon, Leone Vesper dropped a stack of files on my desk and said, “Choose your trainees more carefully. I’m too old to fix your mistakes and theirs.”I looked up. “You say that every year.”“And every year,” h
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