"Flávio"

My father was sitting in a chair near the door to my office. Wearing his expensive three-piece suit, he looked out of place in the room. But he had that stoic expression on his face. I knew he was a man on a mission. He didn't give up easily.

"Dad! Have you been waiting for me long? You should have called me," I said, trying to be cordial.

"I arrived less than five minutes ago, Flávio. I want to talk to you, and I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about." My father was a man of about sixty-six, but very imposing and extremely active, which made him seem even younger. But he was also direct and to the point.

"Let's go to my office." I pointed in the direction and had to restrain myself from leaving, huffing and puffing like a child.

My father looked around my office with disdain, as if he were evaluating every object there with contempt. "How are things in Campanário?" I tried to be cordial, but when my father got grumpy, he forgot his manners.

"I'm not here to tell you