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The night was silent, but Sandro could not sleep. The glow of the monitor illuminated his tired face, reflecting off the papers scattered across the desk. Tables, numbers, invoices, emails-everything told the same story: a story that didn't add up. One million euros' worth of shoes shipped. Zero revenue. Outside, Milan slept under a thin rain. Inside the office, the clock was approaching three in the morning. Sandro once again scanned the list of defaulting stores, running his finger along each line as if he could touch the truth. But the more he searched for answers, the more doubts grew. He had always believed that hard work, passion, and trust were enough to hold an empire together. Now that trust was becoming his greatest weakness. On his phone, the last message from the representative of the boutique chain was still flashing on the screen: ""Tomorrow we'll talk calmly. There will be explanations for everything."" Sandro stared at it for a few seconds, then turned off the phone. There was nothing calm left in that story. Someone was deceiving him, and from that moment on, trust would no longer be enough. It was in that instant, in the silence of his office, that Sandro understood one thing: from then on, every step forward would be a war.

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