36. #3
“But I would not use the children to persuade you.”
I nodded.
“That matters.”
“I know.”
“Dante.”
“I’m sorry.”
I almost smiled.
He took my hand when I passed.
“May I?”
He was already touching me.
“Yes.”
Dante kissed my fingers.
The children did not see.
Or perhaps Elisa saw everything.
But at that moment, the gesture did not feel like a promise.
Only affection.
A small part of what existed.
Then I released him.
“Medication in ten minutes.”
“Yes.”
“And no more work today.”
“Aurora.”
“Temporarily, I am in charge.”
“Queen.”
“I can change your dressing less gently.”
“Obeying.”
I sat in front of him.
The house remained full of noise.
Tomás spilled stones.
Elisa attempted to place another crown on her head.
Cecília reorganized the wedding cushions.
The future lay scattered across the rug, being assembled by children who did not yet understand time.
I could not promise it.
But for the first time, I did not want to destroy the game either.
37.
DANTE FERRAZ
I woke with a paper crown on my head.
Elisa stood in front of the sofa.
“You’re sick king.”
“Thank you.”
“You gotta stay still.”
“Did your mother tell you that?”
“I did.”
Tomás was asleep on the rug.
Cecília sat near my hand, arranging stones she had probably smuggled inside.
Aurora was in the kitchen.
The smell of coffee filled the house.
For a moment, I did not know how much time had passed.
“What time is it?”
“Four thirty,” she answered.
“I slept for two hours?”
“You needed it.”
“And your work?”
“I brought a small piece.”
She pointed toward a table set up near the window.
Tools.
A lamp.
A frame.
She had placed her work inside my house.
My chest tightened.
“You can always use the space.”
Aurora turned.
“Don’t turn it into something.”
“I only offered space.”
“It sounds larger.”
“It wasn’t.”
It was.
But I had learned not to say everything.
My telephone vibrated.
My legal director.
I rejected the call.
“You may answer,” Aurora said.
“No.”
“The company…”
“Can wait fifteen minutes.”
“Why?”
I looked at the children.
“Because I just woke up in the same room as them.”
Her expression softened.
“Fifteen.”
Elisa climbed onto the sofa.
“I want lap.”
“My shoulder.”
“Other side.”
Aurora moved to stop her.
“She can,” I said.
I settled Elisa against my healthy side.
She touched the crown.
“You boss now.”
“Boss what?”
“House.”
“Your mother said no one bosses her.”
“But you boss house.”
“The house belongs to me.”
“And us?”
The simple question.
“You have a place here.”
“Is it ours?”
I looked at Aurora.
“Yours too,” I answered.
She did not correct me.
Elisa accepted.
“Then I can wall.”
“No drawing.”
“But it’s mine.”
“There are still rules.”
“Bad house.”
She returned to the rug.
The telephone vibrated again.
I answered.
“What happened?”
“The board called a vote for your temporary removal,” Marcelo said.
Aurora lifted her face.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“On what grounds?”
“Conflict of interest, unstable management, deliberate exposure of the group.”
“Who proposed it?”
“Sérgio Avelar.”
My father had trusted him.
That meant nothing now.
“How many votes?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“I’ll be there.”
Aurora approached.
“You cannot travel.”
“I can participate from here.”
“They require physical attendance,” Marcelo explained over the telephone, having heard her.
“Then we challenge it.”
“The bylaws allow an extraordinary in-person meeting.”
“Send me the clause.”
I ended the call.
Aurora crossed her arms.
“You’re not going.”
“I need to.”
“You were shot.”
“In the shoulder.”
“Three days ago.”
“I can fly.”
“The doctor ordered rest.”
“Relative rest.”
“You’re impossible.”
“If they remove me, they may restrict access to the audit.”
“The police already have documents.”
“Not all of them.”
“Then send everything now.”
I stopped.
She was right.
“Everything?”
“Everything relevant.”
“There may be trade secrets.”
“Separate what is unrelated.”
“That takes time.”
“Work from here.”
“The vote…”
“If you lose your position because you turned over evidence, that will be a consequence.”
“Thousands of jobs.”
“You said the truth came first.”
“That doesn’t mean abandoning management.”
“Going while injured proves what? Strength?”
The conversation on the sofa.
Heroism.
Sacrifice.
“No.”
“It looks that way.”
“I need to defend the plan.”
“You can do that by video.”
“They may not accept.”
“Then appoint a representative.”
“It isn’t the same.”
“You’re looking for a reason to get up.”
The accuracy irritated me.
“I’m trying to stop men connected to my father from taking control.”
“Then appoint someone you trust.”
“I do not trust anyone enough.”
“That is the problem.”
Silence.
“Do you trust Marcelo?” she asked.
“Partially.”
“The investigator?”
“Yes, but he does not manage companies.”
“Chief financial officer?”
“Pérola Campos.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Then give her authority to vote and present the documents.”
“It does not work that way.”
“Or it is not how you would do it?”
The difference.
I wanted to be there.
Control it.
Watch every reaction.
“I need to think.”
“Think while lying down.”
“Aurora.”
“You promised to address the belief that you need to sacrifice yourself.”
“I’m not…”
I stopped.
I was.
Perhaps not death.
But my body.
My health.
I had always believed leadership meant standing in front of the blow.
My father had taught me that.
Absence was weakness.
Delegation was risk.
“I’ll speak to Pérola,” I decided.
Aurora nodded.
No triumph.
We called her.
Pérola would attend in person with legal authorization while I participated through video. We would immediately send complete copies of the files to the auditors and authorities, preventing anyone from blocking access.
A better plan.
Less theatrical.
Safer.
“Satisfied?” I asked afterward.
“This was not about winning.”
“I know.”
“You’re irritated.”
“A little.”
“Because I was right.”
“Mainly.”
Aurora smiled.
The children noticed.
Tomás woke.
“You laughing.”
“A little,” I said.
“Fight over?”
“It wasn’t a fight,” Aurora answered.
“Loud?”
“Medium.”
“Then half fight,” Elisa concluded.
Cecília placed the stone on my chest.
“Don’t travel.”
I looked at her.
“I’m not going tomorrow.”
“Stay house?”
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise to remain in Santa Brígida tomorrow.”
Concrete.
She smiled.
That evening, after Aurora took the children home, the house returned to silence.
But a different silence.
There were toys out of place.
One of her cups in the sink.
Tools on the table.
The paper crown.
I called my psychologist.
I told her about the gun.
The impulse.
Aurora’s words.
“What did you feel when you stepped in front of her?” she asked.
“I didn’t think.”
“And afterward?”
“That I would do it again.”
“And now?”
I looked at the crown.
“I have three children.”
“Does that answer the question?”
“If I died, I would abandon them.”
“Even while saving their mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then the heroic impulse can also be a form of control.”
“How?”
“You decide alone whose life matters more, which loss the others will endure, and which role you will occupy in the story.”
The sentence disturbed me.
“It felt instinctive.”
“Instincts can be examined.”
“What should I have done?”
“Evaluated alternatives. Trusted the team. Avoided automatically placing yourself as the only barrier.”
“There was no time.”
“Perhaps not on that occasion. But Aurora asked you to address the pattern, not rewrite the event.”
Pattern.
Sacrifice as devotion.
My father valued it.
Ferraz men did not retreat.