37 #2
Some answers made me angry. Others made me feel ashamed.
I had signed off on approvals, accepted summaries, and allowed the same department to centralize decisions that should have been reviewed by different people.
My name appeared in places where I could not claim ignorance without explaining why I had chosen not to know.
The board representative closed a folder.
“The measures affecting the finance director’s role will be formalized today. The review and subsequent action don’t depend on a personal agreement between you.”
I nodded.
I wanted to ask what would happen next, in every detail. There was no single answer. There were internal procedures, additional analyses, and issues that would be referred to the professionals responsible for the next steps. None of those paths would come to an end that morning.
Augusto’s position, however, would no longer be available to him.
***
He was informed of this in the presence of the responsible parties.
I didn’t lead the meeting. Nor did I ask to be spared from it.
Augusto listened to the decision with a blank expression. When they mentioned access restrictions, the preservation of files, and the handover of responsibilities, he looked at me for the first time.
“Do you agree with this?”
“I agree with the measures.”
He gave a smile that lacked any humor.
“At least now you’re admitting you’ve made up your mind.”
The board representative spoke again to clarify the formal decision. My brother let him finish, but kept looking at me through much of the explanation.
When it was his turn to respond, he challenged the conclusions, said he would present his position through the appropriate channels, and asked which documents he could access for that purpose. The instructions were given without the discussion turning into a shouting match.
I knew that angry man. I was less familiar with the man who managed to remain so composed when he realized he would not regain control of the room.
In the end, Augusto gathered the personal items he was allowed to take, escorted according to the company’s procedures. His access was restricted by those in charge. The transition had begun before he even left the building.
In the hallway, he stopped near me.
“You think this report settles everything.”
“I don’t.”
“Then it’s good to remember that it’s not the only document that exists.”
I looked at him.
Augusto adjusted his shirt cuff and kept walking.
I didn’t know at that moment whether he was making a threat or referring to the defense documents. I jotted down the phrase and relayed it to the team.
I also didn’t know that, before losing access, he had prepared a set of files regarding Cecília’s contracts.
I wouldn’t find out about that part until later.
***
My mother called before the end of the afternoon.
Augusto had spoken with her.
I answered from an empty room away from the hallway. Leda asked if it was true, and I confirmed his removal from his duties and the measures taken. I didn’t read her the report. I said what I could and heard her breathing change.
“He said you wanted to destroy him.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
“I didn’t ask him to do what he did.”
My mother fell silent.
“Can I see you?” she asked.
We set a time for the next day. It wasn’t a meeting to give Augusto back what he’d lost. It was my mom asking for company on a day when one son had told her one version of the story and the other couldn’t comfort her with the same one.
Then I called Cecília, as we’d agreed I would do once there was a relevant conclusion.
She answered from the bakery. She asked for a minute, closed a door, and came back.
“Go ahead.”
I told her what the investigation had found about the route the material had taken and about the loan. Clarice would receive the documents cleared for sharing, and the next steps would continue. I told her Augusto had been removed from his duties without offering it as a gift.
Cecília listened until the end.
“So now this is documented.”
“It is.”
There was a long pause.
“I knew I hadn’t done it,” she said. “But hearing you’ve traced how it happened is different.”
“I can imagine.”
She let out a breath.
“Not all of it.”
“No.”
I stayed on the line.
When she spoke again, her voice was firmer.
“I want to talk to Clarice before deciding how to respond. And I want to know exactly what can be corrected publicly.”
“She’ll have access to what she needs through the agreed channels. I’ll answer for my part too.”
She was silent on the other end. I wanted to see her. I waited, listening to her breathing.
Before hanging up, she asked:
“Are you alone?”
I looked around the room.
“Right now, yes.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“I’d like that.”
***
I left the office after most of the lights had already been turned off.
In the elevator, I realized I didn’t feel a sense of victory. I felt tired and a sense of loss that was hard to put into words. My brother was still alive, close by, able to call me or cross the street. But a part of the story I’d been telling about us had ended that day.
In the parking lot, I searched for my keys for far too long. They were in my usual pocket.
I sat in the car and waited a few minutes without starting the engine.
My phone vibrated. It was Cecília, sending a quick text to ask if I’d eaten yet.
I replied that I hadn’t yet.
She asked if I wanted to have dinner with her after my meeting with the professionals was over. I told her it was already over. We agreed to meet near her house, where Marina would stay with Bento for an hour.
I didn’t have to get through that night alone.
That seemed harder to accept than any compliment I might have received for doing what I was supposed to do.
39
CECíLIA
The new work counter fit.
I checked the measurements on paper, then on the floor, then again on paper. Joana waited for all three checks and pointed to the tape marking the position of the legs.
“Measure it one more time and it’ll shrink out of embarrassment.”
I smiled and stood up.
It was Monday in early October. The plan for the alterations was ready. We’d do only the first stage: move two cabinets, install the work counter, and fix the arrangement near the sink that kept us competing for space. The people doing the work had assessed the changes. The rest would wait.
It wasn’t the kitchen I’d drawn on the first sheet of paper—too big for reality.
It was a kitchen where we’d be able to work more efficiently the following month.
I showed Joana the planned dates, the orders we’d have to refuse, and the arrangements for deliveries already accepted.
Ivo had confirmed a day of paid work helping us move everything out and back in.
The changes to Joana’s responsibilities and pay that we’d discussed weeks earlier were now formalized. Our planning had to respect those too.
She checked the schedule.
“I can come in earlier on this day. Not on Tuesday, though.”
I noted the change and redid the schedule.
“Like this?”
“That’ll work.”
I signed the quote after checking the price and schedule once more. We’d pay from the money set aside after closing the season’s accounts. Enough would remain for the bakery’s normal operations. I knew the limits of the decision, and for once they didn’t make me abandon it altogether.
I put my copy in the folder.
Joana was watching me.
“Done,” I said.