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.

The rain fell relentlessly on the city, pounding the asphalt with a fury that seemed intent on washing away the sins of the world. From the window of his luxurious sedan, Caio watched as the raindrops distorted the neon lights of the shop windows. In his mid-forties, Caio had it all: a supermarket chain that dominated the market, a penthouse that touched the clouds, and a bank account with more zeros than he could count. Yet that night, a strange unease weighed heavily on his chest

Beside him, his father, Don Geraldo, gazed at the cityscape with tired but wise eyes. Geraldo was a man with calloused hands, a man who had built the foundations of the family fortune carrying boxes and sweeping floors. Despite the Italian suits he now wore, he had never forgotten the smell of hunger.

“Stop the car, son,” Geraldo murmured suddenly, breaking the silence that reigned in the vehicle.

“Dad? It’s pouring rain. What’s wrong?” Caio asked, frowning.

—I need air. The air conditioning in this car smells like money, but I’m missing the smell of life. Let’s walk around the square for a bit.

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.

Her heart skipped a beat, an arrhythmia brought on by the confusion. They drew closer. The figure was huddled together, curled up in a desperate attempt to conserve heat. It wasn’t a pile of clothes. It was a person.

And it wasn’t just anyone.