2 - Joana

So, still with my head spinning, my stomach squeezed by the alcohol ingested less than four hours ago, I crawled out of the warm sheets of my bed. I let out a deep sigh, mentalizing some mantra to keep my stomach in place, and threw a farewell look at the soft pillow that called me to lie down again.

While I put on my slippers and got up from the bed to open the heavy curtains of my room, I couldn't help that tightness in my chest that always hit me in the morning; or, in fact, it always hit me at any time I dared to think about my family's story. Always at the moment when I remembered how vulnerable we were in that cruel world, surrounded by cruel and ambitious people.

The early morning sun touched my eyes, as I watched the sea in front of our house, with blue waters spinning and shrinking, only to loosen in waves that foamed in front of the sand. One of the privileges of living on the beach was the sunrise; not only for the beauty, but for the time.

Because I woke up too early, even when I didn't need to work. Even when there were only the memories of a loving and necessary father, transformed into a mass of human patchwork by being tortured for more than time than is humanly possible, and that caused me a twelve-year insomnia.

I took a long shower that morning. I knew that my day would be shit, so I did a whole cleaning ritual so as not to consider that facing my co-workers in the law firm, solving the shit that my sisters did on social networks and that they needed my professional advice, or that I delve into my mother's suspicions that we had been being persecuted since long before my father's death,

Despite living in a house with five women, and although every morning they always started with some discussion, I was very quiet that day. One of the advantages of waking up at four o'clock in the morning was that; complete peace.

Because, in most of my days off, I always had to endure some argument from my sisters for whatever kind of the stupid utensil that one of them would have stolen from the other. I was the judge of the matter, always trying to solve it with the dialogue, and staying out of violent fights. Jessy, however, abusing the position of older sister, always wanted to hit everyone, and she always managed.

Not even the birds sang at that time, since we were isolated in a very high house of the condominium in front of the sea. The sun was already rising on the horizon, and that somehow gave me the feeling that the day would be very hot and chaotic.

So, while evaluating my beautiful lingerie in front of the large body mirror of my closet, I chose a set of suit and pants of the thinnest fabric I found. I ended up wearing a combination of white and lilac, putting on escarpins and putting on less jewelry than I used to wear in my ordinary days. After all, that wasn't an ordinary day.

I was going to have a professional conversation with the director of one of the few Brazilian maximum security prisons, in order to introduce myself as the lawyer of Pablo Soares, brother of my sister's current boyfriend " although neither of them confessed that they were dating", and also introduce myself to the detainee.

After that meeting in the early hours of dawn, I would still have to go to the office and issue some important documents to anticipate my client's judgment. As far as Hazz Soares warned me, his brother was suffering constant cheating in scheduling his trial, and something always mysterious and strange happened with his lawyer when the case was about to be reviewed by a judge.

So, before I even accepted to be part of it, when my older sister, Jessy Jones, told about what was happening, I did some research to understand what happened and who was the judge responsible for the case. Ironically, he was one of the few men in the judiciary with whom I was lovingly involved, so it can be said that it was very easy to take over the case and receive carte blanche from the judge who knew me so well "even more than I would like, I need to say.

That day had everything to be shit, but I was determined to face the situation. I didn't put on any makeup, but I stuck my hair in a way that showed my professionalism and that didn't make me vulnerable in a place taken by men.

Although thin, my suit could not prevent me from already feeling the itching at some points of the skin due to the heat. I was a plump woman, to say the least. Our family had the trademark of being made up of women with full bodies, thin waist, but wide hips and large breasts. Finding clothes for us has always been difficult, so Jessy opened her own company at the age of sixteen, and our personal empire began to rise.

That set was from her store. An elegant, reinforced cutout with seams that were so delicate that anyone would say it had been handmade. I watched myself in the mirror with a little swivel, looking over my shoulder to make sure that my thong panties weren't marking the clothes. I had to show some respect in my workplace, even if my body was reason enough for some idiots to try to put me down.

My shoes produced high-pitched sounds through the woody floor as I went down to the kitchen. At that time, only the employees of the beachfront mansion were awake. Some nap discreetly, others already talked excitedly about daily tasks.

My mother or my sisters never set times for them to wake up, but that sleep and that stressful routine should be directed at me, because they adapted to always be available for the times when I needed a good strong coffee.

"Good morning everyone," I greeted, and made some of the employees jump out of the chairs. Everyone watched me with an expression of fright. Neither I nor my sisters used to enter the kitchen on ordinary days. It was very good to be rich to the point of not knowing how your refrigerator worked, but sometimes it was a little difficult to digest the fact that those people always thought they needed to give everything to do the least that every human should know how to do. "I just need a very strong coffee. They didn't need to wake up so early.”

"It's always a pleasure, Miss Jones," said Margarete, our housekeeper, and also a cupbearer. She waved discreetly to a young girl who put herself to work immediately. Soon my espresso was already being served in a medium cup. “What could we prepare for your lunch?”

Being rich had its advantages there too, especially when it came to eating and drinking whatever you wanted at any time of the day. The sun had not even dawned, and my family employees were already preparing to feed us. That was too much. But I was bothered by the time they started that shift and stopped.

"Don't worry about my lunch, I must be going out for lunch with a co-worker, and then I'll be back too late for dinner," I replied in the most gentle and rhythmic way possible. " But I really don't think you need to start working hours so soon. I’ll talk to my mother to reduce your workload. It's not fair.”

"We want to, miss," said one of the oldest cooks in the house. She had been there since my father's birth. "Working in this house is nothing compared to a job in a company. We like what we do.”

" But they need to rest anyway," I insisted, and turned again to Margarete. " Decide if you prefer a day off, or start work on a less terrible shift than this one. I think I can turn around quietly to make an espresso.”

"It's a lot of consideration, Miss Jones," said Margarete, smiling gently.

"Let my mother know about it," I informed, finishing turning the smoking content in my mouth. “ Have a good day.”

I walked away after listening to the good morning chorus of the employees, and went straight to the garage. Our cars were a luxury apart, and choosing one of them so as not to sound too arrogant, and not too insecure, was very complicated that morning.

I opted for an ordinary vehicle, ignoring the wild call of my convertible. I got into the car, opened the garage and roared the city in search of that meeting with my client that I didn't even know his physical descriptions, but I was already interested beyond the account.