27.
OLíVIA SAMPAIO
Switzerland is covered in rain when we land.
Manuela sleeps through most of the flight.
Leonardo does not.
I spend hours pretending not to watch as he reads reports about Henrique’s crash.
Photographs.
Expert reports.
Maintenance records.
Witness statements.
“The police concluded he lost control on the wet road,” I say.
“The car had enough safety systems to prevent that.”
“Accidents happen.”
“Catarina knew he intended to reveal the truth about his paternity.”
“That doesn’t mean she killed him.”
“No.”
“But you think she might have.”
“I think I have to consider it.”
Manuela wakes.
The conversation ends.
We are staying at a smaller Villar property outside Geneva.
Of course, smaller means eight bedrooms and a view over the lake.
“Hotel again,” Manuela says.
“It’s a house,” Leonardo replies.
“Nobody lives here.”
“Then maybe it’s a hotel.”
I look at him.
“She has a point.”
Vogel receives us the next day.
He is seventy, thin, white-haired, and moves slowly.
When he sees Manuela, his eyes fill with tears.
“She has Henrique’s eyes.”
Leonardo tenses.
“She has mine.”
“The Villars share many features.”
Manuela holds my hand.
“You knew my uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Was he nice?”
Vogel smiles.
“Very.”
“My mommy gets sad about him.”
“So do I.”
He takes us to a private room.
The box has been kept in a safe.
Before opening it, he asks that Manuela stay with a nurse in another room.
“There are things a child should not hear.”
We agree.
Once we are alone, Vogel places the box on the table.
“Henrique told me to release this only if Leonardo came with Olívia.”
“Why?” Leonardo asks.
“Because he trusted her to stop you from acting out of anger.”
I look at my husband.
He accepts the judgment.
Inside the box are letters.
Genetic test results.
Photographs.
A recorder.
And an envelope with my name.
My hands start trembling.
I open it.
Olívia,
If you are reading this, then I did not manage to tell the truth.
I’m sorry.
I asked you to keep quiet because I was afraid, but that silence may have put you in danger. Catarina discovered that I knew. I believe she gained access to my tablet. I also suspect she has been diverting money from the foundation for years.
Do not trust any documents that appear after my death.
And above all, do not let Leonardo turn his pain into cruelty.
He loves you.
But he was raised to believe love is another thing he must control.
I look at Leonardo.
He is reading over my shoulder.
His jaw is rigid.
The letter continues.
If he loses you, it will be his fault.
Not yours.
Remember that.
Henrique.
Tears fall.
For five years, I carried guilt for keeping my promise to him.
Henrique knew.
Knew his secret might destroy me.
And still tried to protect me too late.
Leonardo opens another envelope.
His name is on it.
Brother,
If you are reading this, you are probably angry.
Do nothing before listening to Olívia.
She knows part of the truth, but not all of it.
Our mother had a relationship with Augusto Meireles before she went back to Dad. I am his son. Catarina knew because Augusto worked at the foundation and tried to contact her years later.
That does not change the fact that you are my brother.
If it changes it for you, maybe I was right to hide it.
Leonardo closes his eyes.
We continue.
Henrique discovered that Catarina had been diverting money through shell companies.
When he confronted her, she threatened to expose his paternity, destroy their mother’s reputation, and convince Otávio that Henrique was manipulating the family for money.
There are recordings.
I grip the recorder.
Catarina’s voice fills the room.
“You think Leonardo will choose you? He’ll choose the group. He always does.”
Henrique answers.
“He isn’t like you.”
“He is exactly like his father.”
“I’m going to tell him.”
“Then you’ll lose everything.”
“I’m already dying.”
Silence.
Then Catarina:
“Maybe sooner than you think.”
The recording ends.
Leonardo doesn’t move.
“That does not prove murder,” Vogel warns.
“It proves a threat,” I say.
There is another file.
Henrique speaks alone.
He records that the car’s brakes had failed two days before the crash. He says he took it to a mechanic recommended by Catarina.
Leonardo’s hand closes into a fist.
“I’m going to kill her.”
I grab his arm.
“No.”
“She killed my brother.”
“We don’t know that.”
“You heard it.”
“I heard a threat and suspicion.”
“That is enough.”
“Not enough to destroy your life and ours.”
His eyes meet mine.
Rage.
Pain.
The man from the cathedral is there.
Ready to act before thought.
“Manuela needs you,” I say. “Not in prison. Not turned into someone she has to fear.”
His breathing changes.
“Let go.”
“Not until you tell me you won’t do anything.”
“Olívia.”
“Count to ten.”
He closes his eyes.
One.
Two.
I can almost see the numbers cross his face.
By the time he reaches ten, some of the tension has left his shoulders.
“We give everything to the police.”
“Yes.”
Vogel removes another document.
“There is more.”
A full genetic report.
It confirms Henrique was not Otávio’s biological son.
It also identifies a mutation associated with the disease.
“Is Augusto Meireles still alive?” Leonardo asks.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“France.”
“Did Henrique contact him?”
“Once.”
“Did he know?”
“That he had a son, yes. That Henrique was ill, no.”
Leonardo looks at the letters.
“My father never knew.”
“Henrique chose to spare him.”
“Catarina used it.”
“She used all of you,” Vogel says.
We spend hours organizing the material.
When Manuela returns, she notices that we’ve been crying.
“What happened?”
Leonardo kneels.
“We found out your uncle tried to protect a lot of people.”
“Did he?”
My heart tightens.
“Some,” I say.
“And now?”
“Now we finish it.”
That night, Manuela falls asleep early.
I find Leonardo on the terrace.
The rain has stopped.
The lake reflects distant lights.
“It’s cold.”
“I don’t feel it.”
“That isn’t true.”
I place a coat over his shoulders.
He doesn’t move.
“Henrique thought I would choose the group.”
“He was afraid.”
“Catarina said the same thing.”
“She was wrong.”
“Not that day.”
I don’t need to ask which day.
“I chose my family over you.”
“Yes.”
“Now I gave up the group for both of you.”
“You don’t have to turn everything into compensation.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re trying to balance an impossible account.”
Leonardo looks toward the lake.
“How do I stop?”
“Accept that maybe the account never balances.”
“Then what do I do?”
“Keep going.”
“Until when?”
“As long as it’s real.”
He turns toward me.
“I love you.”
My body goes still.
The words aren’t a surprise.
They hurt anyway.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because our marriage is a contract.”
“My feelings aren’t.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“You already do.”
“Leonardo.”
“I’m not asking you for anything.”
“You’re changing everything.”
“Everything was already changing.”
I step closer.
I don’t know whether I intend to push him away or touch him.
“You can’t show up, become the father you should have been, choose our daughter over your board, and think that somehow erases—”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop making me remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That I still love you.”
The words are out.
The world stops.
Leonardo doesn’t move.
“Olívia.”
“Don’t say anything.”
“You—”
“I said don’t.”
He closes his mouth.
Tears burn my eyes.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate that it still exists.”
“I know.”
“I hate that Manuela looks at us as if we could actually be a family.”
“We are.”
“Not the way she thinks.”
“We could be.”
“Do not make promises.”
“I’m not promising. I’m asking.”
“What?”
Leonardo approaches slowly.
“Whether there is any chance our marriage does not end.”
Fear comes immediately.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s enough.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“For me, it is.”
I grip his shirt.
Not to push him away.
I pull.
The kiss happens five years late.
It isn’t soft like the first one.
It isn’t cautious.
It is anger.
Longing.
Fear.
Everything I tried to deny.
Leonardo cups my face but doesn’t deepen the kiss until I do.
I do.
His mouth opens under mine.
My body remembers every movement.
When we pull apart, both of us are breathing hard.
“This is not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t change the contract.”
“All right.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
He smiles against my mouth.
“No.”
Then he kisses me again.
This time, I don’t pull away.