“Dad, what happened? Kayo said you got angry over an old piece of paper. You can’t,” he stopped talking when he saw Rabi. He stared at his worn flip-flops, his simple t-shirt, his frightened expression.
“Who is this boy?” Augusto stood up, leaning on his cane. “That boy did today what many well-dressed people here haven’t had the courage to do in years,” he replied.
He returned what wasn’t his. Elena frowned. I don’t understand. Augusto placed the envelope in his daughter’s hand. Read it slowly. As if it were from someone you love.
He began to read as he understood her expression, changing the phrases about unconditional founder, the cuts approved in his name, the signatures that in practice had been imposed on a tired and ill-informed man.
Elena felt a warm shame rise up her neck, because there, in black and white, was the portrait of something that deep down she had already perceived, but did not want to face.
Kaio used the name of father-in-law as a shield for decisions he made himself, without explaining them properly, without leaving room for questions. “Dad,” he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion.
“Haven’t you ever seen this?” “It was never presented to me like this,” he replied. “What they gave me were clear summaries, presentations on tablets; what they didn’t want me to see, they threw away.”
Elena sat down slowly, looked again at the envelope, and then at Rabi. Suddenly, the distance between the two worlds—the rooftop with its panoramic view and the alley where the bus doesn’t go—seemed shorter, much shorter.
An uncomfortable question exploded in his mind. How many pains like this boy’s were hidden behind cold phrases like staff adjustments or cost reductions? Meanwhile, outside, Kaio walked down the corridor as if he were treading on cracked ground, still unaware that the boy he had called an undesirable brat had just exposed the dirty game he had been playing for years.
The envelope, which for him was nothing more than a risk that had to be eliminated, became in the hands of the real owner and his daughter, proof that the company was being led to a place that Augusto never dared to imagine, a future without character, with high profits and little respect.
Elena still had the envelope in her hand when there was another knock at the door. It was Callo. He entered almost without permission, wearing his immaculate jacket and expensive cologne that exuded the confidence of someone who felt irreplaceable.
He saw his father, he saw Elena looking pale, he saw Rabby huddled in his chair. In that precise moment, he assessed the scene. “Everyone’s very tense,” he remarked, forcing a smile. “Dad, I already told the boys to take care of that at the dump.”
We don’t need to waste time with Augusto. He raised his hand, telling her to be quiet. The simple gesture, which Kayo would have ignored before, was of great importance this time. “Sit down,” the old man said.
Callo sat down, albeit reluctantly, looked at the envelope, and recognized it instantly. He felt a chill, but his trained face feigned normalcy. “This document,” Augusto began, “was found in the company’s trash.”
The garbage you ordered to be taken to the depot contains decisions signed in my name that I never approved in this way, and they are firing people as if they were mere numbers, not people.
Cayo tried to laugh. “Dad, you know that in every big company there are drafts, minutes, versions? This must be an old version.” And this boy looked at Rab with disdain. “He probably just grabbed her in the middle of the mess and doesn’t even know what she’s got.”
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