Page 46 of Girl in the Water
“Living off logging was as miserable as living in the favelas, except even harder work,” the old man said with a pointed look. “Back then, loggers worked with mules instead of heavy machinery. Between the snakes, the bugs that carried disease, and the frequent accidents…” He shook his head.
His hard gaze pinned Marcos first for an uncomfortable moment, before moving to Eduardo. “I’ve done all the hard work. And now it’s your turn to prove to me that you are worthy of taking over the empire I created from nothing. Do either of you have something to tell me?”
Eduardo and Marcos wouldn’t look at each other. Eduardo hoped Marcos would say something. Marcos was probably waiting for him.
The old man’s tone carried a warning as he said, “There isn’t much time left.”
No, there wasn’t. Less than a year. Barely six months, in fact.
It’d been nearly a decade ago that Raul Morais had laid down his ultimatum. He’d paid for his sons’ educations, then after college—which had taken them a number of extra years to complete due to a shared tendency to get distracted—he’d given each a million dollars to start out. Eduardo had been twenty-nine. Marcos had been thirty.
The deal had been whichever of them turned their starting capital into enough money to be able to purchase just two percent of Morais Timber within the next ten years would inherit the entire business.
But if neither of them succeeded, the business was going to the old man’s younger brother, their only uncle.
Raul Morais put down his glass. “I didn’t build Morais Timber to leave it to useless sons who’ll run it into the ground after me. You are going to need to prove that you can handle a business. And that you can handle it honestly.”
He let a weighty pause hang in the air before he finally went on. “I did all the dirty work. I did whatever I had to. I have reached as high as I can. But my sons can reach higher. A senator or president. Your dealings must be impeccable.”
“We are running an honest business, Father,” Marcos pointed out, speaking through gritted teeth.
The old hyena snorted with derision. “A worthless little security outfit. It’s not the scale I’m looking for.” He fixed them with an unforgiving look. “Can either of you come up with the money I require before I can consider letting go of the reins?”
“Yes, Father,” Marcos said.
And Eduardo added, “I certainly will.”
Theywould, somehow, together.
No time for another grand scheme.Which meant they had to go back to one of their failed schemes and somehow fix it.
Raul Morais dismissed his sons with a wave.
They walked out together but didn’t talk. The servants always listened.
The brothers communicated with looks. They’d always been able to do that, had grown up as close as if they’d been twins. They’d always shared everything growing up. And they continued the practice into adulthood, sharing money, drugs, even, on occasion, a woman.
The old man had thought his challenge would make strong, honest men out of them. He thought competition would make each try harder. He’d pitted them against each other. Only one could inherit. The old hyena would not split his empire.
They, however, hated being in competition against each other, so right at the beginning, they agreed to work together. Their chances of coming up with enough money together were a lot greater than doing so separately. Then one of them would take the money to their father, receive the entire business, and share with the other brother at that point. There’d be nothing the old man could do but hiss and spit.
Diamond mining was big business in Brazil. They’d begun there. They’d invested everything.
Within two years, the small mine they’d financed—along with a number of other investors—went under, taking most of their money with it. They’d gained nothing but experience, a fair grasp of the industry. They’d learned, for example, that mines invested most heavily in equipment and in security. The labor itself was cheap.
The Morais brothers hadn’t had enough capital left to get into equipment manufacturing. But they had enough—once they’d borrowed from all their friends with promises of immense returns as soon as they had Morais Timber—to start a company that specialized in mining security.
Getting into that side of the business was a whole new kind of education. The men in their employ were mercenaries who administered the law of the jungle: you stole from a mine, you died.
Surrounded by tough men, having tough men like that answer to them, Marcos and Eduardo began to feel tougher themselves. They were the lords of life and death. After years of prep schools and colleges and all the usual rich-boy pursuits, they felt like real men at last. After partying aimlessly through Rio during their twenties, now, in their thirties, finally, they began to feel like true macho men.
They spent most of their time on location, at the mines, with their mercenaries. They grew stronger, rougher. Their grandfather’s survivor genes and their father’s favela blood prevailed. The brothers took to the work of intimidation and violence like caiman to water. Began providing security for other industries.
The business was actually turning a profit. But not fast enough. They had to accept that they were not going to have the capital they needed from honest work.
So they’d stolen what they needed. But then, infuriatingly, it’d been stolen from them.
While they’d been tracking the foreign thief four years ago, the old hyena had had a stroke, and they’d thought all their problems would be solved.
Once their father was dead, the brothers would simply contest the will. But the old man had pulled through. And his security was tighter than an anaconda’s asshole. Impossible to have him killed.
“Morais Timber goes to us,” Marcos said under his breath once they reached the other side of the pool, where party guests were a little thinner on the ground.
Eduardo nodded. “We have six months left. I say we throw everything we have at finding the thief’s little friends.”
The American and the whore.
Somebodyhad to know where they went.
