38. CARLOS
CARLOS
T he sun is high, hot and brutal, beating down on my bare chest as I lay stretched out beside the pool. Aviators over my eyes, I await the confirmation from our lawyer that the Marin deal is done.
Not a minute later, my phone rings and I sit upright, hoping this is the end.
“It’s done,” Mayara says smoothly. “All contracts are finalized. Every Silva asset is now under the Marin banner. Real estate, accounts, ports. It’s all signed and done.”
I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding on to.
“Good,” I say, voice flat. But in my chest, relief floods in like warm liquor.
I lay back on the sun lounger, the tension in my shoulders melts for the first time in weeks since this bullshit with Gabriel started. The war is over. The old SIlva name is buried with its old ways. It’s my turn to start a new legacy.
I go to end the call, but Mayara isn’t finished.
“There is one more thing.”
I tense, preparing for bad news.
“Gabriel had a policy. A massive life insurance. Quiet. Buried deep under shell corporations. It states he took it out for succession protection in case the family was ever dismantled. The payout triggers if he’s declared dead or missing for seven days.”
I spring back up into a seated position.
“So if he was under attack, he planned to vanish?”
“That would be my guess. An escape clause. If everything burned, he’d walk away clean and rich, leaving the ashes of someone else in his place. But the twist is—you are now the sole beneficiary.”
“How much?”
“Eighty million US dollars.”
I stare at the pool water, the sunlight turns violent, shifting to gold. Blood money.
“Keep it quiet,” I say. “Don’t move anything yet until I give word.”
I hang up and walk into the house.
Lucas is pouring drinks in the kitchen and Mark is sitting with his feet up, scrolling through his phone. They both look up when I enter.
“Any news?” Lucas asks.
“Yes. All contracts are signed. It’s over.”
Mark whistles low. “Finally.”
I lean on the counter. “Gabriel has left a sizable hidden life policy that goes to me.”
Lucas raises his brows. “Wow. What does that mean for you? You gonna take it?”
“I’m not sure what to do. I think when we get back to the states I’ll be able to think more clearly.”
“So, when are we going back?” Mark asks.
“As soon as possible. Tonight if we can, or tomorrow. I need to leave here.”
“I’ll get on with booking those flights,” Mark says, and I grab my phone out of my shorts and text Dima.
Me: Coming home.