You step closer.
“Do you want to lose everything in a courtroom,” you say quietly, “or do you want to tell me who else is involved right now?”
Marcelo’s breathing is heavy.
He looks at you, then at the security, then at the walls, calculating.
And then he says a name that turns your blood to ice.
“Eduardo Siqueira,” he whispers.
Your brother.
The room tilts.
You stare at Marcelo like he spoke a language you refuse to recognize.
“Say it again,” you demand.
Marcelo’s eyes dart. “Eduardo,” he repeats. “He’s been using Alvorada as a channel. For payments. For… arrangements.”
Renata’s gaze shifts to you, sharp with concern.
She expected corruption, but not this.
Your jaw locks so hard it aches.
Eduardo is your blood, your only family, the person you kept close because your father’s absence taught you loyalty.
And now loyalty tastes like poison.
You dismiss everyone with a single gesture.
You need silence to think.
When you’re alone, you open your private safe and pull out the old things you never show anyone.
Your father’s ledger.
The one you inherited when he died.
The one you never read because you told yourself the past is dead.
You flip it open.
And there it is.
An entry from years ago.
A payment marked to “Alvorada Serviços,” long before your company ever used them.
Your breath catches.
This didn’t start with Marcelo.
This didn’t start with your company.
This started in your family.
The next move is dangerous, and you know it.
You invite Eduardo to lunch.
He arrives relaxed, smiling, brotherly, wearing a watch that costs more than most people’s rent.
He hugs you, pats your shoulder, sits down like he owns the air.
“Busy week?” he asks.
You pour water slowly. “Very.”
Eduardo grins. “That’s why you’re the legend.”
You look him in the eyes and say, “Did you send men to Renata’s building?”
His smile freezes.
For a fraction of a second, you see the real Eduardo, not the charming one, the one your father probably trained in the dark.
Then he laughs softly. “Who’s Renata?”
You set the ledger on the table between you like a knife laid flat.
He glances at it, and his pupils tighten.
“You’re digging through old paper now?” he asks, still light.
You keep your voice calm. “Special services,” you say. “Envelope deliveries. Fake staffing. Bribes.”
You lean in. “Tell me this isn’t you.”
Eduardo’s smile fades fully.
He doesn’t look angry.
He looks disappointed, like you broke a rule of silence.
“You should’ve stayed in your lane,” he says quietly.
There it is.
Not denial.
A threat with manners.
You sit back. “Renata is under my protection,” you say. “And if you touch her again, I’ll burn everything to the ground.”
Eduardo’s eyes narrow.
“You think you can?” he asks.
You nod once. “I know I can,” you answer. “Because I finally understand what you’ve been doing.”
Eduardo’s gaze flicks around the restaurant, calculating who might be listening.
Then he smiles again, smaller, colder.
“You’re emotional,” he says. “That’s always been your weakness.”
You let the words slide off.
“Funny,” you say. “I thought my weakness was not checking my own house for rot.”
Eduardo leans forward. “Listen to me,” he murmurs. “This is bigger than you. Bigger than Renata. Bigger than this building.”
He taps the ledger. “Dad built networks. You’re sitting on them like a child in a throne.”
You feel heat rise in your chest, but you keep your face still.
“Then I’ll be the child who tips the throne over,” you say.
Eduardo’s eyes harden.
He stands. “You’ll regret this,” he says, and he walks away like a man leaving a funeral before the body hits the ground.
That night, your building loses power.
Not the whole block.
Just your tower.
Just your floors.
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