“I seriously doubt I would have ever written the first story had I not been a lawyer.”
This sentence is John Grisham’s, but the same goes for me.
Many times, in my job, I have found myself thinking: “this scene seems a film”. Overnight negotiations like poker games, bankers maneuvering billions, entrepreneurs without scruples and entrepreneurs in tears, situations that in an eyeblink shifted from triumph to disaster; and in the background, always, the sense of everything we did being hauled by the relentless movement of the world, with which none of us could interfere.
A film: nay, perhaps, more precisely, a thriller. Except that, as I saw it, thrillers telling these stories, in Italy, there were few. And I wondered why. And I wondered whether I would ever be able to write one myself.
Until one day, in 2013, while I was in Libya with a client, one morning we woke up in the middle of a coup d’Etat. Someone had kidnapped the Prime Minister, the country’s airports had been shut down, NATO was preparing to have the F-16 take off, and we thought that may be we would have never returned home.
But, luckily, we did return home. And once returned, I started writing.