Men in black surrounded me. Guns holstered. I was seized, dragged into a cold, sterile office.
"What are you doing? I didn't do anything!"
Officer Lombardi slammed the passport down. He tapped his badge once with his index finger, the gesture of a man who believed the institution made him untouchable.
"Fake document. Fraud. You're under arrest."
I was stunned as I stuttered. "No—Giacomo Russo gave me that passport! Call him. He'll explain—"
He picked up the phone, pulled up the registry system, then dialed.
Giacomo answered. "Russo residence."
"Mr. Russo, this is Officer Lombardi, Immigration and Customs. A woman named Liliana Russo—she claims you gave her this passport. Can you confirm that you know her?"
There was a pause.
Then Giacomo's voice—calm, composed, merciless.
"I don't know anyone by that name."
I screamed. "Giacomo! It's me! Please—"
The officer ignored me. "Just to confirm, sir. You deny giving her any documents? Please be certain because she will be arrested."
Without a moment of hesitation, Giacomo's voice sounded again.
"I don't know her. Do whatever you wish. I have to go take care of my wife and daughter." Then the line went dead with a click.