I spent the morning pacing the office the way other people practised a speech—walking the corners, rehearsing the lines in my head until they felt lifelike. Mara had turned my plan into a spreadsheet and then a checklist; our “mock delivery” was no longer theatre but training. We’d invited a courier company to play the part, briefed the receptionist, and handed the doorman a script that read more like a small war plan than a test. Luca’s kid would run the feed and radio me if anything looked off. Everyone had their role, and for once I felt less like the center of a storm and more like someone rehearsing...