61
LUCA BELLANDI
The truce lasted until we reached the guesthouse. Reporters were waiting in the street.
I called Gabriela before parking by the side entrance. She and Cris came out to meet us. When a camera swung toward Camila, I stepped between our daughter and the lens. Gabriela took her inside, and Cris went with the boys.
“Dad, do they know my name?” Heitor asked once we were inside.
“I don’t know what they’ve found out. If anyone calls to you, stay with us.”
“What if they say bad things about Mommy?” Noah asked.
“We’ll handle that. You stay with your brother and sister and Uncle Cris.”
I went to the door only to say I wouldn’t answer questions about the children. I closed it and found the number for the security company we’d spoken to before the trip.
“I want the team we met,” Gabriela said. “Two people at the entrance. No one goes through the rooms.”
“I’ll check whether they can come today.”
She called her mother to arrange access for the guests and informed the receptionist.
I made the call beside her. The company confirmed the two names we already knew and their arrival time.
When we finished, Gabriela showed me an article about the board. “You offered your shares as collateral?”
I stayed quiet.
“Don’t do this for me.”
“The first contribution has already come out of my investments. The credit line is still under review.
“It’s to keep payments going while they reorganize the cash flow,” I added. “I don’t want them taking money from employees while I still have money I can put in.”
“And your resignation?”
“Bianchi has taken over operations. I’ll answer to the auditors too. I can’t choose what they examine.”
“What if the board never lets you come back?”
“I’ll still be a shareholder. I just don’t know whether I’ll ever sit in that chair again.”
Gabriela looked away. Through the half-open door, Heitor was showing me his loose tooth. I held up a finger, asking him to wait, and he came in anyway.
“Lorenzo did this to us,” she said. “But you don’t have to lose everything.”
“I’m not losing everything, Gabi.”
Heitor pulled my hand toward his mouth. The tooth was still holding on. Gabriela smiled when he asked me to check again.
She came closer and touched the shadows beneath my eyes.
“Couldn’t you sleep at home?”
“I slept. I woke too early.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Coffee and a piece of toast.”
“Then sit down. Lunch is ready.”
She filled a plate while I sat with the children.
During lunch, Noah asked:
“Aren’t you going to work there anymore?”
“Someone else is doing my job for now.”
“Were you fired?”
“I asked to step down from that job.”
“Did you do something bad at work?”
“I made bad choices. Other people are going to check what happened at my work.”
“So are you picking us up tomorrow?” Heitor asked.
“I’m going to S?o Paulo tomorrow,” I replied. “Your grandmother will pick you up.”
Camila offered me half her dessert.
“You can have that bit. It’s got more sauce.”
I accepted the spoonful solemnly.
“Exactly the bit I wanted.”
After lunch, I showed Gabriela the statement prepared for the next day’s press conference.
Bianchi would speak in Como about the group’s operations; I would join by video from the foundation in S?o Paulo.
I was leaving that afternoon and would return after the broadcast. The children’s schedule was already arranged with their grandmother and Cris.
“What are you going to say?”
“The truth I can document. Including my own responsibility.”
“Don’t give them details about me.”
“None you haven’t authorized.”
“And don’t keep calling me ‘the mother of my children.’ I have a name, even if you don’t say it publicly.”
“I’ll say ‘a woman I was in a relationship with.’ No names, number of children, or medical details.”
“Better.”
She read another page and crossed out a sentence about the years we’d lost.
She looked up.
“You lost those years. We lived them.”
I looked at the crossed-out sentence and nodded.
Gabriela also removed a reference to the children’s health. I forwarded the revised version to the lawyers while she was still beside me. When I put my phone away, her hand remained on the table, close to mine. I touched her fingers, and she returned the pressure.
“This text, Luca. Don’t improvise about us.”
“I won’t.”
She let go of my hand.
I left late that afternoon. From the car, I could still see Heitor at the living room window. I raised my hand before we turned the corner. The printed statement was in my folder; I read it again on the way.