I rose with my glass and smiled warmly at the hall. Then I began in perfect Italian. “Good evening, dear friends. Before I raise a toast, I must say that I understood every word spoken at dinner on Thursday.” The murmuring stopped. Alessandro’s glass tilted in his hand, and Marco’s face turned the color of the tablecloth. Giulia stared at her father, and Daniel stood beside me, perfectly still and perfectly pale.

I lifted the printed speech with my name at the top. “This was written for me,” I continued, “by someone who wanted you to believe I endorsed a business partnership. I wrote nothing of the kind.” A gasp rolled through the hall. Alessandro rose, shouting that I was a liar. Then the double doors at the back swung open, and two uniformed officers walked in with Harold Mitchell, who had flown in overnight.