He thought his employee was going to a warm house, but he found her sleeping on a bench in the rain. When he saw the three pale faces she was hiding under her coat, his life of luxury crumbled in an instant.

Caio sighed, but he couldn’t refuse. He knew that arguing with his father was useless once he got an idea in his head. He ordered the driver to stop near the central square, a place that bustled with activity during the day, but that night, under the storm, resembled an abandoned and ghostly scene.

They got out of the car, sheltered by large black umbrellas. The cold was biting, the kind that chills you to the bone. They walked in silence. Caio was thinking about the board meeting the next day, about profit margins, about expansion strategies. His mind was a constant spreadsheet. He didn’t see the plaza; he saw assets and liabilities.

“Look over there, Caio,” Don Geraldo pointed with his cane towards a wooden bench, half hidden under the shade of an old oak tree.

Caio squinted. At first, he saw only a bundle. It looked like a pile of old, discarded clothes. But as he took a few more steps, a familiar color caught his eye: a soft purple, almost lilac. It was the color of his domestic staff’s uniform.