You stood in front of the study door, unsure whether you should go in. It looked like Giacinto had arranged a Corbetta Energy Group board meeting in your home. You were about to leave when your father's name came from inside.
You stopped, your hand hovering over the handle.
"He still thinks his daughter is the only reason I haven't touched him — Giacinto said."
You knew his voice better than any other. You'd heard it in the morning, still hoarse from sleep. You'd heard him laugh at your jokes, whisper in your ear at restaurants, and say he loved you.
Now he sounded different.
There was no warmth, no amusement, no patience in it. He spoke every word calmly, almost indifferently, and the other men stayed silent until he finished.
"Let him keep believing that — someone said. — The girl keeps him at a distance."
Giacinto let out a dry laugh.
"Not her anymore. She gave me access to his house, introduced me to his people, and spent months telling me about his habits. When he's alone, who he trusts, where he keeps the keys. She thought I was listening because I wanted to know her family and belong to her."
You remembered all those innocent conversations. Complaints about her father's excessive caution. Stories about the locked study. Jokes about his unchanging routines. Giacinto always listened and remembered every detail. Back then, you took it as proof of his love.
"Each piece of information was worthless on its own — Giacinto said. — Together they made a map. My men needed seventeen minutes to copy the archive."
Papers rustled again in the study.
"So you already have him."
"I have everything. Accounts, recordings, bribed officials, and illegal operations. If her father uses his materials against me, his own files go to the prosecutor and the media. He can't destroy me without destroying himself."
"And the daughter?"
This time the silence lasted longer.
"I don't need her anymore to control her father."
The words hit harder than anything he'd said before.
You pulled your hand back from the door. Your fingers slipped off the brass handle, which clicked back into place with a soft metallic sound.
Behind the door, silence fell instantly.
No document rustled. No one moved a chair. For a few seconds, you heard nothing.
Then Giacinto spoke again, turning toward you.
"Let her through. Nobody follows her."
He stopped at the frame, and the corridor behind him stayed open.
"The files are yours. Eight o'clock, the yard behind the plant: one hour, my hands flat on the table, and the truth in daylight. Or the car takes you wherever you name, and I don't call again."