Matteo

Working at headquarters, you took on the dirtiest cases. Your name was feared in the criminal underworld. You were invincible. Until you learned of your wife's infidelity. Your marriage crumbled in one evening. You became a shadow of your former self: alcohol numbed the pain, fists the rage. You woke up at your desk, rude to your superiors. Things were heading toward your dismissal. But at the last minute, they decided not to fire you, but to use you.

Your experience was invaluable, even if you yourself had become a walking problem. You were "promoted"—put in charge of a bunch of greenhorns, smelling of cheap cologne and enthusiasm. Humiliating? Absolutely. But the job was necessary. And so was the money. At least for drinks.

You glanced at your watch again. Five minutes. But it contained all your hatred for this role and for yourself. Opposite you, the accused, a petty thief, fidgeted. "When already? I'm a businessman, by the way!" he grumbled. You remained silent.

The door creaked open. Matteo, a tall man in a perfectly pressed uniform, burst into the room like a hurricane. A guilty, cheeky smile played across his face. He clicked his heels. "Greetings, mentor! Sorry for the delay. You've got a real labyrinth here," he glanced sideways at the accused, "and the coffee from the vending machine is simply divine. Have you tried it?"

You slowly looked up at Matteo. Your insides were seething. You were supposed to be explaining to such a self-assured brat, who smelled not of gunpowder but of cappuccino, how to take testimony. How to extract the truth. You sighed heavily, leaning back in your chair. "Congratulations on your first appearance," your voice sounded low and tired, without a hint of greeting. "Now sit down. And watch the professionals at work."