Epilogue

Six Months Later

Hot dust blew across the prison courtyard, gritty, sharp and maddening. Paolo Duro swore when it hit his face, then turned into the corner, avoiding the other prisoners as they exercised. Keeping a low profile was essential to his survival, he knew. He hadn't yet adjusted to the shock of a guilty verdict and life in prison. He kicked at the dirt and grumbled to himself about the spectacle of a trail he'd received. The public had already decided his fate, even before that circus of a biased trial had begun. Lucia Corado had been a well-loved Brazilian national, a beautiful girl full of promise, and a symbol to the poor that there was hope for them to rise above the favela's cruel cycle of poverty. Her murder trial turned the tide against Paolo Duro, for he'd snuffed out that young, promising life. The fact that he was rich, successful and corporate had only added fuel to the fire of hatred against him. During the trial, the prosecution painted him as a monster, one who flaunted labor laws, and exploited children in his sweatshop. Being trapped in prison with so many favela dwellers terrified him. He kept his head down, begged for isolation but was denied the request. There would be no special treatment for any of the prisoners, and he had to take his punishment same as everybody else. He cursed Angela Bower for the umpteenth time that day, muttering her name while he scratched at the courtyard enclosure. So focused was he on the feel of grimy metal beneath his fingernails, that he didn't hear the menacing footsteps approaching.

"How the mighty have fallen," a young man sneered, approaching. "Your money isn't doing you much good in here, is it?"

Paolo turned and glared at the other prisoner, then glanced away. He didn't want trouble, and had learned that keeping his mouth shut was worth more than any currency in this hellhole. This particular man had been circling, eyeing Paolo for some time now, observing him in the cafeteria, in the library, and following his every move. Until now, however, he'd never approached or spoken directly to him. Paolo swallowed hard and tried to assume his confident CEO stance, but was unable to hide his terror, for he could feel the other man's hot breath on his neck.

"What do you want?" Paolo said, gulping back the shriek that threatened to escape.

"Justice. I want justice." He fixed Paolo with unusually coloured eyes, clear hazel with orange flecks.

Paolo shrank back, gripping the fence behind him for support. He'd only ever seen that eye colour in one other face, gold with streaks of fire within. They'd hypnotised him, obsessed him. Lucia's eyes continued to stare him down, boiling with hatred. Paolo never saw the switchblade, only felt the agonising stab when it plunged into his belly.

"I want justice for my sister, you diabo. Lucia was innocent. Assassino." Lucia Corado's brother twisted the knife, his broad back hiding his victim, and the blood that began to pool beside him. "I hope you rot in hell." Paolo Duro drew his last breath, vacant eyes locked in terror.

The prisoners said they saw nothing, and shrugged when questioned by apathetic guards. They turned a blind eye, secretly relieved that one of their own had finally been avenged.

Six Months Later

Angela Micelli adjusted her sore back and expanding belly behind her office desk. She had difficulty reaching her keyboard with the baby in the way. She stretched, and exclaimed in surprise at the hard kick from within. "One more month," she reassured herself. "Only one more month and I finally get to meet you little one. And I'll be able to fit behind my desk again." She smiled at her tummy and patted the spot where she'd felt the baby kick. Things were going so well at home. She and Tony were getting set to celebrate their one year anniversary. Had it been one year already? They were happy together, fully synched, their family life continuing as before with the added dimension of intimacy and romantic love. Tony had only one year of college remaining, and was on his way to becoming a teacher. In the meantime, he focused on his studies and ran the household. Angela sometimes wondered why they hadn't simply gotten together earlier, and why their roles had mattered so much to them. Nobody batted an eyelash at their marriage—their friends and neighbours had all seen it coming. So what if the high-powered ad exec was married to a college student who vacuumed the living room? He was also PTA president, former ballplayer, terrific parent and one hell of a committed student. What had they been worried about? Lost in her musings, she didn't hear the soft knock at her office door. Then Mother buzzed her phone.

"Esteban Duro is here to see you," she announced, her usual demeanor subdued.

"What? Oh, send him in." Angela stood up too abruptly. In her advanced state of pregnancy, the blood drained to her feet and she felt a bit woozy. She gripped the edge of her desk for support.

"Esteban … what brings you here?" she asked.

"I'm sorry that I didn't call first. But I needed to see you, to talk with you." The young man had changed—he possessed more self-confidence, spoke with assurance and no longer had the look of a cowered pup.

"Please, please sit down." Angela sat down as Esteban took the seat across from her. "How are you?"

"I am well. Oooooh, congratulations on your pregnancy. I did not know you were having a baby."

"Yes, Tony and I are very happy. Thank you. One more month to go."

"Hmmm, only one month, hmmm. I wonder if that's enough time."

"Enough time for what?"

"I want to give you back your commercial, Angela. After my father's, ahem, passing, I inherited Duro Maio. Except it isn't Duro Maio any longer. I've renamed the company Lucia's Luxo."

"You want to hire me back?" Angela's eyebrows flew up in surprise.

"I've come to New York to ask you this in person, because I know how much you suffered at my father's hands. I am so sorry about that." Esteban looked down at his lap, still feeling the remnants of shame generated by his father's legacy.

"It's not your fault, Esteban. You and Tony saved me. You suffered at his hands too … and Lucia."

"That is why I am coming to you, Angela. My company is for her, in her honour. I want you to help me advertise it, make it renown. Lucia's Luxo is not Duro Maio. I don't make bathing suits anymore. My new company makes affordable clothes, costume jewellery and colourful accessories. Inexpensive trinkets for young girls, poor girls, so they can enjoy the feeling of luxury without the cost. I want your input, your ideas, and your direction to put me on the map."

"I … I don't know Esteban. I have to think about it. My baby is due next month, and I'll be taking time off work while Tony finishes school."

"Angela, please, it's for the foundation as well," Esteban pleaded.

"What foundation?"

"The Lucia Corado Foundation—it helps the young people in favelas. Through this foundation, I made significant changes to my father's factory. We are ensuring that the poor have proper access to education, sanitation, and medical care. We pay fair wages and obey labour laws. It is an excellent charity, and it is funded both by private donations and ten percent of the income earned by my company. I want to broaden its appeal, make it known worldwide. Can you do that?"

"Do you want me to do a commercial for the foundation, or for your company?" Angela tapped her pen on the desk, her brain already focused on strategy.

"One and the same. That is what I am saying. Lucia's Luxe helps fund the foundation, and I want everybody to know that! It is important that they know that Duro Maio is as dead as my father. Please, Angela."

Angela smiled at him and nodded in understanding, her dark eyes moist with emotion. "Yes, I think Lucia would have liked that. I'd very much like to help honour her memory, and I thank you for asking me." Angela put her hands on her belly and shrugged, "Can we do the work in New York? I can't travel in my condition."

"Yes, yes that is fine. Thank you, Angela. Thank you so, so much!"

Three Months Later

"Come on, Angela's commercial is about to air!" Tony called out to the kids. He turned the TV to the right channel and waited. "You said 7:58pm, right? On ABC? This is right, right?"

"Yes Tony. Shhhhh, sit down." Angela held her eight week old baby over her left shoulder and rubbed his back in an upward motion. "Oh good, he finally burped."

"No kiddin', I heard that," Tony chuckled. He looked over at his wife and son, feeling the deep satisfaction of a man who has everything, knows he is loved, and loves without reservation. "He takes after Mona, awwww."

"I'm here, I'm here," Mona prattled, leading the way with the children in tow. "OK, let's watch this commercial already."

They sat together on the couch, crowded in against each other as they usually did during movies, watching in rapt attention. Angela's commercial was simple, not only for the fact that she'd had to rush through it before Matthew's arrival, but also because its message was straightforward and eloquent, not needing embellishment.

First there were pictures of the favelas, the poverty, the Lego-like structures stacked precariously on the hilltops, children running, mothers calling, garbage strewn everywhere. This was followed by quick footage of Esteban's new factory before the camera panned to his charitable work in the favelas. The American version of the ad focused only on the charity, as Lucia's Luxo remained a local Brazilian company for the time being. Angela thought it wise to introduce the company after the charity became more renown, giving Esteban a chance to grow his business. Once he became successful beyond Brazil (Angela had no doubt on that front), Americans would already associate the good of his charity with his commercial offerings. The Brazilian version of the ad would not air in the States. In that one, Angela positioned the new company as a compassionate, community changing force, with the well-loved Lucia at its heart.

"Oh Angela, that was such a beautiful commercial," gushed Sam. "I'll bet people will be really generous and help support Lucia's foundation."

"Thanks Sweetheart. I've never done an ad for a registered charity before, but I must say that it was very gratifying." She wanted to add that it had also been a tremendously healing experience, letting go of her hatred of Paolo through her work with his son.

"You did good, Ang, really good." Tony kissed her, then bent to kiss his son's dark, downy head. "See that Matty? Your mommy is real special, and smart too." Matty squeaked in response and closed his eyes again, falling asleep on Angela's shoulder.

"What a year we've had, huh?" Tony said.

"You can say that again—it's been a ride alright," Angela agreed.

"Last year, when you went to Brazil, I was so worried Angela. Things felt wrong, off somehow_" he trailed off unsure how to continue.

"You've mentioned that before, Tony. I never fully understood what you meant." Angela cocked her head, lost in thought.

"Doesn't matter anymore. Everything is just as it should be now. I mean, ever since I sang with Sinatra, I've known that everything is okay."

"Singing was Sinatra was better than okay!" Mona interjected.

"This whole year has been better than okay," Tony said. "I had a strange dream, but things turned out better than I thought they could have." He cast his gaze over his family, pausing at his wife and newborn son. "Things turned out better than I ever thought they could have," he repeated for good measure.