A certified email from the Guardia di Finanza arrived. They were summoning me, a few days later, to their headquarters. Investigated. Criminal proceedings.

I gathered the evidence. Put the facts in order. No comments. Only a written statement to attach to the report. Someone, later, would evaluate it.

In the last seven years I have learned enough. Fifteen criminal and administrative proceedings are faced in court. Eighty‑five years of potential prison time, according to the code. Six tax foreclosure procedures. Sixteen million euros. Always the same conclusion: acquitted because the facts did not exist.

My lawyer was growing professionally. Everyone knew that if he was the defense attorney, the chances of acquittal were high. He never collected fees. Our friendship cost him that too.

I built the defensive structures. He verified them. He got success; I got the acquittals. A perfect combination.

The morning of the interrogation, the judicial authority wanted to record a video. The prosecutor wanted to see me. See my face. Evaluate me. A clever thief or a thief who thinks he is clever.

Jurisprudence does not really distinguish between “investigated” and “accused.” They are children at the same register. It is like putting a nose around someone’s neck while he is walking down the street, without him realizing what is happening.

I asked if I could have a copy of the video. To put it on my website. After all, every interrogation of mine always began the same way: I prosecute myself innocent, then everything else follows.

The detail that made everyone smile was simple. The alleged crimes dated back to 2022. I sold the company in January 2020, with a notarized deed. I had moved to Spain. With official documentation from the Spanish judicial authority.

Committing crimes in one country while living permanently in another. An Italian magic trick. Without precedent in global jurisprudence.

I went back home. Tired only from the travel. No cognitive effort. The documents spoke to me. They spoke about me.

At dinner, with my wife and children, a long silence fell. The kind that precedes a question. It arrived.

“How did you do it? How did you avoid being arrested? How did you always come out clean? How did you win? How did you not collapse? How did you not explode emotionally?”

They all stopped. They were looking at me.

The answer was only one. Simple. Inevitable.

Because documents do not panic. Neither do I.

Nando