28.
AURORA VALEN?A
I did not sleep.
I spent part of the night preparing clothes, medication, snacks, and instructions for three children who would remain outside my sight for fewer than ten hours.
Mrs. Lurdes received one list.
Marta received another.
Dante already knew most of it.
Even so, I wrote:
Tomás: cashews. Epinephrine pen in red backpack.
Cecília: blue cloth. Do not force her if she does not want to speak.
Elisa: watch small objects and the gate.
Mrs. Lurdes read it.
“You think I don’t know?”
“It’s for the security guards too.”
“Security does not care for children.”
“If something happens…”
“Aurora.”
I stopped.
She held my shoulders.
“Go retrieve what you need. I’ll take care of them.”
“There are three.”
“I know how to count.”
“Your knee.”
“Marta will come after school.”
“And before that?”
“They’ll be at school.”
“If they call…”
“I call you, Dante, and the pediatrician. In that order or another, depending on the problem.”
I breathed.
“All right.”
“You trust no one.”
“I trust you.”
“Then show it.”
At six forty, the children woke.
Cecília noticed the small bag.
“You going?”
“I’m going to work.”
“Far?”
“A little.”
“Sleep?”
“No. I’ll return before you go to bed.”
“Promise?”
I could.
“I promise I’ll do everything I can to return today. If I cannot, I’ll call.”
She did not like the imperfect part.
But she accepted it more easily each time.
“Daddy going?”
“Yes.”
“He takes care you?”
The question struck me.
“We take care of each other.”
The words came before I thought.
Tomás heard.
“Like family.”
That time, I did not correct him.
Perhaps because I was tired.
Perhaps because I was afraid.
Dante arrived at seven.
Exactly.
Not before.
He wore dark trousers, a shirt, and a light jacket. He carried a folder and two bottles of water.
“Good morning.”
The triplets ran toward him.
The goodbye took time.
Elisa wanted to know whether we would bring treasure.
Tomás asked for a small helicopter.
Cecília refused to release my hand.
Dante knelt.
“Would you like to keep my stone while we travel?”
He removed it from his pocket.
Cecília looked at him.
“You not taking?”
“You can care for it.”
“What if I lose?”
“You pay attention.”
She accepted.
She placed it inside the pocket of her dress.
“Come back get it.”
“I’ll come back.”
Not an eternal promise.
A concrete object.
A task.
It worked.
We left.
The helicopter waited in a private area outside town.
Miguel was already there.
I looked at the aircraft.
My stomach contracted.
“There is still time to drive,” I said.
“Four and a half hours,” Dante replied.
“Maybe it’s better.”
“You want to return before the children sleep.”
“I also want to remain alive.”
Miguel put on his sunglasses.
“Statistically…”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I said.
Dante approached.
“I can hold your hand.”
“I’m not afraid.”
A gust of wind lifted my hair.
“Of course.”
“I simply don’t like it.”
“Is there a difference?”
“A great one.”
We entered.
I accidentally sat beside the window.
Dante sat beside me.
Miguel was in front.
When the rotors began spinning, I gripped the seat belt.
Dante did not comment.
The aircraft rose.
I closed my eyes.
An open hand appeared between us.
It did not touch me.
It merely offered.
I took it.
Hard.
“Don’t say anything,” I said through the headset.
“I wouldn’t.”
“You’re smiling.”
“A little.”
I squeezed his fingers.
“That hurts.”
“I can endure it.”
The sentence reminded me of Tomás sleeping in his arms.
I opened my eyes.
The landscape below was beautiful.
Mountains.
Roads.
Small rooftops.
The fear remained, but there was something else.
Dante’s hand.
Not a demand.
Support.
I released it when we approached Petrópolis.
He did not attempt to hold on.
The warehouse stood far from the city center, surrounded by forest and a high wall.
Two security guards arrived before us.
Augusto Meirelles waited at the gate.
He was a man close to sixty, with white hair and a nervous expression.
“Mr. Ferraz.”
Dante shook his hand.
“Augusto.”
The man looked at me.
He recognized me.
“Mrs. Valen?a.”
“Aurora.”
“Of course.”
His voice faltered slightly.
I noticed.
So did Dante.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then open the gate.”
We entered.
The warehouse was climate controlled.
Rows of mobile shelving occupied the space.
Crates.
Covered furniture.
Wrapped paintings.
The smell of old wood and fabric struck me.
I knew that world.
Before my life became survival, it had been my home.
“Sector C,” Miguel said.
Augusto led us there.
“The piece was transferred three years ago.”
“Who authorized it?” I asked.
“The temporary administrator of the Valen?a Museum.”
“Name?”
He hesitated.
“The document is in the system.”
“Name,” Dante repeated.
“álvaro Mendon?a.”
I knew him.
A former consultant of Otávio.
“Does he still work with the group?” I asked.
Dante went still.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“How many people connected to my uncle work for you?”
“I’ll find out.”
We continued.
The sculpture was not on the indicated shelf.
My heart accelerated.
“Where is it?” I asked.
Augusto checked a clipboard.
“It should be here.”
“It is not,” Miguel replied.
“Perhaps it was moved.”
“By whom?”
“I’ll check.”
Dante caught the man’s arm when he attempted to leave.
Not violently.
But firmly.
“Make the call from here.”
Augusto lost color.
“Mr. Ferraz…”
“Now.”
He telephoned.
No one answered.
“Who is your superior?” Dante asked.
“álvaro.”
Of course.
“Where is he today?”
“I don’t know.”
Miguel looked at me.
“Otávio.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
We began searching.
The sculpture stood approximately one meter tall, made of polychrome wood, depicting Saint Anne with the child Mary.
I remembered every detail.
A faint crack along the base.
An old restoration on the robe.
My notebook hidden in a compartment I had discovered myself during an intervention.
Thirty minutes later, I found it.
It was in Sector D.
Without any record of movement.
“Here.”
I ran.
The covering was removed.
The saint remained intact.
The base did not.
The crack had been forced.
My body went cold.
“Someone opened it.”
Dante approached.
“The notebook?”
I knelt.
I moved my fingers across the wood.
The compartment was empty.
“Gone.”
The word echoed.
Miguel swore quietly.
Dante looked at Augusto.
“Who entered this sector?”
“I don’t know.”
“There are cameras.”
“Only in the corridor.”
“I want the footage.”
“The system stores thirty days.”
“Then thirty days.”
Augusto appeared ready to faint.
“Mr. Ferraz, I did not…”
A sound came from the corridor.
Metal.
Footsteps.
The guards spoke over the radio.
“Movement at the service exit.”
Miguel drew a weapon.
My body froze.
Dante placed himself in front of me.
“Stay behind me.”
“No.”
“Aurora.”
“I will not hide without knowing what is happening.”
Another sound.
The guards ran.
Then silence.
The service door stood open.
A crate had fallen to the floor.
No one was there.
“Someone was here,” Miguel said.
“And heard us arrive,” Dante replied.
Augusto trembled.
“I didn’t know.”
“Your telephone,” Miguel requested.
“What?”
“Give it to me.”
“You cannot…”
Dante held out his hand.
“Give it to him.”
Augusto obeyed.
Miguel checked the recent calls.
“You called álvaro at six fifty.”
“He is my superior.”
“Before we arrived,” Dante said.
“I needed to warn him.”
“We never told you we were coming.”
“Reception informed me.”
Dante looked at one of the guards.
“Who knew?”
“Only the flight team, driver, and warehouse manager.”
“And reception,” Miguel completed.
The operation had not been discreet enough.
It never was.
“The notebook isn’t here,” I said. “We need to leave.”
Dante looked at me.
“We still need the footage.”
“Miguel can get it.”
“I’m not allowing you to leave alone.”
“We have security.”
“I’m coming.”
“And abandon the investigation?”
“You are the priority.”
The sentence irritated and warmed me at the same time.
“I’m not fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re acting as though I am.”
“I’m acting like someone who just discovered another person hiding inside a warehouse.”
He was right.
I hated it.
Miguel approached.
“Go. I’ll remain and extract the footage.”
“I don’t trust Augusto,” Dante said.
“Neither do I.”
“Take him into a room.”
“You cannot detain me,” Augusto protested.
“I’m not detaining you,” Miguel replied. “I’m inviting you very persuasively.”
Dante took my hand.
He did not ask.
I should have complained.
I did not.
We left with the security detail.
On the way to the helicopter, my telephone rang.
Unknown number.
I stopped.
“Don’t answer,” Dante said.
“It could be about the children.”
“The number is from S?o Paulo.”
“The school could…”
I answered.
“Aurora.”
Otávio’s voice.
My entire body stopped.
“Darling.”
Dante saw my face.
Did he take the telephone?
No.
He waited.
“Where is the notebook?” my uncle asked.
“You know it isn’t with me.”
“If it were, you should not give it to Dante.”
“Why?”
“Because there are things he will not want you to see.”
I looked at Dante.
“What?”
“Ask him about his father.”
The call ended.
I remained still.
“That was Otávio,” I said.
“What did he say?”
The old reaction attempted to appear.
Hide it.
Protect the information until I understood.
That was how everything began.
“He told me to ask about your father.”
Dante lost color.
“What about him?”
“He said there are things you will not want me to see.”
Wind lifted dust around us.
The helicopter waited.
Dante did not answer.
“Do you know something?” I asked.
“My father invested in the art trade for years.”
“Legally?”
“I believed so.”
“Believed?”
“There were old investigations, but nothing was proven.”
“You never told me.”
“I did not think it was relevant.”
“It is now.”
“Yes.”
“And you will tell me everything.”
Dante looked at me.
“Everything I know.”
“Unfiltered.”
“Unfiltered.”
We entered the helicopter.
That time, I was the one who opened my hand between us.
Dante took it.
Not because I was afraid of flying.
Because we were afraid of what we would discover when we landed.