Page 1 of Factory Controller

HEATHER

The turbine engines’ whine changes subtly in pitch, awakening me from my nap. I pull aside my sleeping mask and blink. The cabin lights are bright.

Glancing blearily out the window, I get my first look at Brazil.

What am I doing here?

Wilderness is not my thing.

And this jungle—even from my plane window, I can see it’s way too wet, too green, too big, too wild, too dangerous.

Way more dangerous that the corporate jungle which is my usual hunting grounds.

Now, I don’t mind my mission. On paper, the job I am sent to do is easy-peasy. In any other setting, it should take me less than a day to figure out if Sister Isabella has been pocketing most of the money the Foundation for an Active, Optimized and Rich Youth has been funneling into Sister Isabella’s charity.

I’m pretty sure she has. They wouldn’t waste one Favor if it didn’t have serious doubts.

The first question for me, though, is what didn’t they tell me? The second is, what are they doing in Brazil?

I’ll have the answers to my first question soon enough, and for the second, there’s a chance I will never know.

They could actually be playing the part of the big American Foundation, helping poor kids worldwide get an education to pull themselves out of their misery.

I doubt it. In my gut, I think they are scouting for the new generation of star pupils. After all, talented kids can be found everywhere in the world, so why not in the Amazonian jungle?

And what if they are doing both?

I close my eyes, and for more times than I can bother to count, I try to figure out the way I feel about the Factory—that’s the nickname all of us, the Foundation’s protégés, use when we talk about this venerable charitable institution.

I’m feeling so conflicted about them.

Not because of how they treated me. I would be the world’s most ungrateful brat if I did. After all, they took a chance on me. While they usually take in teenagers, they took me in as a very young child. At the time, they had no way to figure out if I would have any out of the ordinary talent.

If my feelings are mixed, it’s because the Factory is a magnificent iceberg. All what most people see is this mountain of pure white ice, while I’ve been looking under the surface.

Do they know I’ve been investigating them?

Is that why they are sending me here, in the middle of nowhere?

I sure hope not.

But then again, they had to know I would look.

You can’t train someone to be the best forensic accountant in the country and expect them not to turn around and look under your hood.

So, of course I tried to figure out how they managed to finance giving thousands of kids a year the best education money can buy.

And of course they know I’ve been studying them.

I look out the window again. In a few minutes, I’ll be landing in Macapá. The city sits on the mouth of the Amazon, which, from this vantage, looks more like an inland sea than a river.

I’ve done my research. Macapá has its modern trappings, like its international airport and franchise hotel chains. Yet, the city also gives a feel of being ancient, worn, and murky.

This is dangerous territory. Political unrest, friction between industry and indigenous factions. I’m pretty sure I’m landing in the middle of a brewing storm. If I’m not careful, I could be swept away by it.

And I’m not even taking the deadly wildlife into account. Things that sting, bite, and stalk.

My Favor will take me right into the heart of the Amazon rainforest, close to a small patch of urbanity called Ipixuna.

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