42
DANTE
The proposal was simple to state.
Suspend new business dealings with the bakery while the investigation continued. Review outstanding payments. Distance the company’s image from the woman with whom the president was involved.
In the meeting room, the proposal was phrased more carefully. The effect remained the same.
I listened until the end.
The April contract was among the documents received.
So was Trama’s statement. They said these weren’t enough to settle all questions regarding subsequent execution or my role.
I accepted that part. What I wouldn’t accept was treating Cecília like a piece that could be removed so the rest of the structure would appear intact.
“The investigation must continue,” I said. “Including the part about me. But we can’t call a decision ‘precautionary’ when it presumes the supplier’s guilt before verifying the services.”
One of the people at the table folded their hands.
“You understand that your position in this discussion is compromised.”
“I do.”
It was harder to say than I’d expected. Not because I disagreed. But because I realized I wouldn’t be able to resolve that conflict simply by explaining that I was now willing to do the right thing.
Eunice presented what had already been uncovered.
The initial contract predated the acquisition.
Not all the amounts listed in the complaint corresponded to the bakery.
There was documentation of additional expenses, still under review.
My personal relationship had been disclosed, and it would be necessary to examine the limits of my involvement in the decisions.
I couldn’t possibly be both the subject of that analysis and the person from whom everyone expected the final word.
“I will temporarily step down from the presidency during this phase,” I said.
There was a pause.
The board representative asked me to explain what I was proposing. I spoke of the operational transition, my availability to respond to requests, and the need for a process that did not depend on my approval. I did not present this as a condition for exonerating Cecília.
Her contract would have to be reviewed based on the documents.
My temporary departure would neither make them true nor false.
We discussed the terms for longer than the initial statement had suggested.
There were responsibilities to transfer, communications to prepare, and boundaries that needed to be made clear.
The decision was formalized by the board, with an interim leadership team and the continuation of the independent evaluation.
Payments for completed services would be checked by the people responsible against the contracts and confirmations of acceptance, with no automatic withholding based solely on the allegation.
Future business would remain under review.
It wasn’t an unconditional guarantee. It was a process I’d have to accept without interfering with its outcome.
“You won’t be able to monitor every operational decision as you have until now,” the board representative added. “We need the transition to be genuine.”
I nodded, feeling an immediate urge to ask for exceptions. I knew the contracts, the deadlines, the people who would be calling the next morning. It was easy to turn that knowledge into an argument for staying where I’d always been.
“I’ll make sure the materials are organized,” I replied.
“And your questions will be forwarded to the team in charge, just like those of everyone else involved.”
I looked at Eunice. She didn’t look away. We had reached the point where my agreement would have to survive the first answer I wouldn’t receive right away.
“All right.”
One of the people at the table asked if I intended to publicly challenge the measure.
“No. I’ll say that I’m stepping aside while my conduct is under review. Without presenting this as proof of anyone’s innocence.”
“Including the supplier?”
I felt the weight of the question.
“Including her. Her case has to rest on the records being gathered. What I do can’t replace any of them.”
I wanted to protect Cecília. I wanted to leave that room with a decision I could offer her as reassurance. But the part of that reassurance that depended on me, at that moment, was to step down from the position from which I could demand a specific outcome.
When they handed me the document to read, I checked each condition before signing.
My hand didn’t tremble. I only realized how tense I was when I put down the pen and felt pain in my fingers.
By the time I left that room, I would no longer be exercising the same authority.
***
I returned to the office to organize the transition.
The chair was in the same place. The computer, the folder, the glass I’d left on the desk. Their unchanged appearance felt almost offensively indifferent to what had just happened.
I made the necessary calls. I reassigned the tasks that needed a new person in charge and confirmed how I would respond to the review team. My assistant listened to the instructions with a seriousness that made me realize the impact this would have on people who hadn’t chosen any of this.
“Do you want me to let them know…” she began, referring to a meeting the following morning.
“Yes, I do. The interim leadership will designate who attends. Just let me know what they need from me for the transition.”
She jotted it down.
I lingered over the last drawer longer than over any conversation. There were only a few personal things. A charger, a pen, an old photograph I still hadn’t decided to put away. I didn’t take everything. I wasn’t acting out a permanent departure.
I took what I’d need for the next few days and closed the drawer.
Then I called Cecília.
She answered in a low voice. Bento was having dinner.
“I can talk for a few minutes,” she said.
I told her about the bakery first: the review would continue, records of completed services would be checked, and there was no decision to withhold everything automatically. I explained the limits without promising that every question was settled.
Then I told her I was stepping aside.
Cecília was silent.
“Did you leave because of me?”
I looked down at the table.
“I stepped aside because my actions are under review and I can’t oversee that review. The accusation uses our relationship, but responsibility for my position is mine.”
I heard the clink of cutlery in the background.
“I don’t want this to be a debt I carry,” she said.
“It’s not your debt.”
She took a slow breath.
“And are you okay?”
I thought about saying yes. The answer would be helpful for a few seconds and false afterward.
“Not really. I’m trying to figure out what the next few days will be like.”
“Do you want to come over after I put Bento to bed?”
My throat tightened.
“I do. If it’s good for you too.”
“I’m inviting you.”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
We set a time.
***
When I arrived, Cecília opened the door in her socks, hair tied back, a cup in her hand.
I’d spent the whole day hearing different versions of my name spoken in a formal tone. She simply said:
“Come in.”
I went in.
Bento was asleep. The kitchen was tidy, but there was a plate set aside for me. Cecília asked if I wanted to heat it up. I nodded, unable to decide whether the urge to cry came from exhaustion or from the simplicity of that act of care.
I ate while she sat across from me.
She asked how the transition would work and listened to my answer. She told me about the counter finally in place, the customer who’d called, the folders she’d opened with Teresa.
I heard her say she was afraid of losing work, and I didn’t try to allay her fear with a guarantee I didn’t have.
“I’m scared, too,” I admitted.
Cecília looked at me.
“Of what?”
“Finding out how much of what I called competence depended on no one challenging me.”
She was silent for a few seconds.
“You’re being challenged now.”
I let out a weary laugh.
“I am.”
“And you’re still here.”
I looked at my plate, at her hands on the table. There was no absolution in that kitchen. There was a person who knew the worst I’d ever done, and that night, she’d chosen to keep me company.
After eating, I took my plate to the sink. Cecília came over, rested her forehead on my shoulder, and stayed there.
I hugged her.
We didn’t speak for a while.
When I left, the day was still difficult. But it no longer felt like a room from which I’d been locked out.
43
CECíLIA
The news broke the next morning.
It didn’t repeat the whole accusation as fact. It said the claims would be examined, included the company’s response, and mentioned that my contract predated the acquisition. Even so, the headline put the bakery, the president who’d stepped aside, and the word favoritism side by side.
I read it once in Clarice’s office.
I didn’t open the comments.
She was with me to review the statement I’d decided to issue. Teresa had sent Trama’s statement and authorized the release of the points that proved the independent contracting arrangement. My part included the dates, the nature of the services, and the availability of records for verification.
I wanted to start by saying who I was.
Pastry chef. Mother. A woman who had worked to build her own business.
Then I stopped.
None of that should be a condition for taking me seriously. I didn’t want to put Bento in front of an accusation so his presence would make his mother more worthy of a defense.
I started with the contract.
I wrote that A?úcar de Dentro had been hired by Trama Celebra??es in April, before Grupo Vasconcelos acquired the hotel.
The services and extras had their own requests, approvals, and supporting records.
The published table mixed in expenses that didn’t belong to the bakery, and the full documents would be provided to those conducting the review.
I read it aloud.