Original subtitles

THIS PROGRAM IS LOOSELY BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS.

CHARACTERS AND EVENTS WERE ADAPTED FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.

In Brazil, people think that being a cop

means invading favelas and shootouts with drug dealers.

FEDERAL POLICE

That's not being a cop.

That's being a stupid cop.

It's not the violence in favelas that's fucking up our country.

It's not the lack of education, broken health system,

public deficit or interest rates.

What's fucking up our country is the cause of all these things.

Twenty years serving the police.

I've never been corrupted.

Never invaded a single favela.

Never been called a hero.

But you know what I've found out?

What's really fucking up Brazilian people's lives.

It's like a cancer.

A cancer, you know?

If we don't strike at the root of the problem,

the shit will spread.

Ten B.

Ten billion dollars.

Nineteen bank accounts. I traced four.

Ten billion at the least.

What does he do for a living?

He sells fried pastries.

He used to sell sfihas at a stoplight.

He was Ruffo's classmate.

Unfortunately I went to school with that prick.

He started smuggling goods at Friendship Bridge,

then became a drug runner.

But he made a name for himself with money laundering.

-Want me to get that? -No, I got it.

Hey, baby.

Regina?

Regina?

Must be my daughter playing.

Twenty years serving the police.

Enough to buy a used car for my wife...

and a ranch in Paraná to secure my daughter's future.

Ten... billion?

Nice chunk of change, right? Upper middle class.

More than all drug trafficking and smuggling in Brazil.

Where's that money coming from?

That's what I plan to find out.

I started the investigation,

but a federal officer can't get access to offshore accounts.

I took the case to the Public Prosecutor's Office.

Cláudio and Dimas.

The Public Prosecutor's Office was my only way in.

If you would be kind enough to lift Ibrahim's bank secrecy,

this could be a very good day.

Fettucine's on me.

For you, not him.

No one fights a cancer and walks away unharmed.

No one.

Those pencil-pushers laughed at me.

Cláudio and Dimas.

Today they're considered heroes.

But in the beginning, they treated me like a lunatic.

-Where did you find this? -These bank statements...

He's a real son of a bitch. He shreds and dumps everything.

So I piece it all together.

It's a pain in the ass because my fingers get sticky.

You salvaged all of this from the trash?

From the trash, yeah.

Your buddy prints out these statements

just to keep you up all night gluing scraps together.

Ruffo, I can't build a case on this.

And no judge would accept trash as evidence.

What are you afraid of?

With the Public Prosecutor's support, I can put an end to this.

Or are you scared to find out where the money comes from?

Honey.

Are you OK?

Hey, baby.

Regina?

What?

-Regina, where are you? -Ruffo, where are you going?

Wait.

A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES

It was an absurd amount of money.

Clearly there was something sinister behind it all.

Take it easy.

Don't come near my family, buddy.

I don't know what you mean, Ruffo.

Don't come near my daughter.

-But I didn't do anything. -Your henchmen did.

I didn't do anything.

You can call Motta and find out if he did anything stupid.

I told him, lawyers are not bodyguards.

But Motta...

You know he has a temper, right?

Don't you come near my wife.

You know I'd never hurt Regina. She is very dear to me.

I'll kill you!

Ruffo, you're going into one of your dark phases again.

Everything's fine.

I would appreciate it if you put the blade away.

Roberto Ibrahim.

The definition of a motherfucker.

What color was the car?

-Black. -What make?

For God's sake! A black car.

Black, tinted windows...

It was old.

-What's going on? -Calm down.

Some days ideas just whizz around in my head.

Marco is going crazy...

I know this upsets me.

Regina thinks I should be medicated, but I'm not the type.

Verena, they almost killed our daughter today.

-For how long did they track you? -I don't know.

If I was less compulsive...

Marco!

...I wouldn't be the cop I am.

Ruffo, don't go!

Give me the key! Give it to me.

Drive.

Why go after the guy's family?

You're going to make him even more furious.

Exactly.

I've known the guy for 30 years, Motta.

I dated his wife back in high school.

A wacko. But I can deal with him.

So, relax.

What's this?

This is abuse of authority, legal restriction...

Look at that!

Disciplinary action and a transfer to some hellhole.

See? The more furious he gets, the more he'll fuck up.

That's just him. He can't help it, you know?

We have enough to take him out of the picture.

Just one little nudge...

and he'll shoot himself in the foot.

I don't agree.

-Hello? -Motta?

Nice bike Ibrahim got you

with the people's money.

-Come to the window, asshole. -Who?

He's a beggar.

I have two messages for you.

Don't you ever come near my family again, motherfucker.

And the second?

Stop it, you lunatic!

I'm going to make you lose your house, you hear?

I'm going to sue him.

I'll buy you a new one.

No need. I'm gonna sue this fucker.

Sometimes my compulsive nature would get me in trouble.

But what could I do?

Look ahead.

That's it.

A little faster now.

The Public Prosecutors won't cooperate?

Fine. I'll go straight to the judge.

Hold on a sec, darling.

How are you, Deputy?

Is something up?

Dr. Rigo...

Sorry to bother you on a Sunday. Hey.

I need access to Roberto Ibrahim's accounts.

The currency dealer.

Stop by my office tomorrow.

No, it's urgent. Look at this.

-And the prosecutors? -They refuse to charge.

-There's nothing I can do for you. -He's moving billions.

Billions of dollars overseas through State Bank.

He also threatened my family.

My wife and child.

-You're an officer. -My daughter...

You have the authority to take the appropriate measures.

He's a cancer.

Roberto Ibrahim is a cancer.

If we don't act now, the cancer will spread.

This is neither the time nor place for this, Deputy.

Don't force me to take legal action against you.

Let's go, honey.

Rigo called. Our boy is crazy.

He's stalking the judge now.

Look at this mess!

What's more, Ibrahim hired a detective and filed three lawsuits against him.

I know.

He's rummaging through trash.

-I'll get him transferred. -Where?

-You can't do that. -I made a deal with Motta.

He'll be sent to a border post. Maybe Amapá.

His daughter Beta requires treatment and he's our best investigator--

Verena, it's either that or forced retirement.

Come on!

They broke him, Verena. The guy snapped.

Put him on leave, then. Six months.

And who would take over his investigations?

You can set them there.

What the hell is this?

I'm on vacation.

An elephant steps on a lot of toes.

And Marco Ruffo steps on even more?

Right.

I had to take his cases.

Either that or a transfer to the Amazon.

Yeah, Amazon.

Better the Amazon than these boxes in the house.

Come on, Regina. Beta!

Verena?

Well, he did say he's a pain in the ass.

-But, Regina-- -Thank you.

It's just six months. He'll be back, Regina.

Duty calls. I'll explain later.

-No one can know these boxes are here. -OK. Thanks, Verena.

Honey...

Well, God works in mysterious ways.

For three months, I put scraps of paper together, reconstructing bank statements.

Until one day...

I found it.

I found it, honey.

Thirty-nine, six hundred.

-Thirty-nine, six hundred. -Thirty-nine, six hundred.

-Thirty-nine, six hundred. -Thirty-nine, six hundred.

Thirty-nine million, six hundred.

That number changed the course of Brazilian history.

At first, I couldn't make out the whole disease.

I only saw one symptom.

I worked my ass off all day to earn my measly Federal Police salary.

While the son of a bitch who didn't even have a job

had fancy cars, a country house, a yacht, and a private jet.

This is a small branch, right?

But I'd guess it moves a healthy chunk of change.

Maybe 100, 200, 300 grand?

Not 40 million, though.

I'm no mind-reader, but I imagine you know Ibrahim, correct?

I do.

You fucked up, right?

Let's undo that fuck-up.

$39.6 million reais in cold cash.

That piece of shit counted it, put it all in a spinner suitcase

and walked out of the bank without causing a stir.

Play it again.

Quite the artist.

Freeze it.

-Is he the account holder? -Yes.

Of course the account wasn't in his name.

Get me a copy and his address.

-That's bank property. -Better cooperate with the law.

It was in the name of a guy called Sebastião Barbosa Moreno da Silva.

A farmworker living in the middle of nowhere.

He's illiterate.

Sebastião could not write.

Good afternoon, ma'am.

I'm looking for Sebastião.

But he deposited $39.6 million reais

in a State Bank account.

He exchanged it into dollars and wired it to a secret Swiss bank account.

-Sebastião? -Yes.

-Good afternoon. -Good afternoon.

-Police. -May I help you?

You may. What do you grow here?

All kinds of things.

Beans. Crops for home cooking.

But the biggest share of what we sell is cassava.

Fried cassava with rice is good eating.

How much do you make on a good shipment?

Some good money, when there's a lot of it.

Not 40 million, though.

No, not 40 million.

He might as well have written "front man" on his forehead.

You fucked up, right?

Well, come with me and let's undo that fuck-up.

-Who is that? -No idea.

I should ask you who it is.

Verena!

-Hey. -Did I wake you, Verena?

No.

Rough climb with no elevators. Almost had a heart attack. Look.

-What's that? -What we need to put Ibrahim away.

$39.6 million involved. Let's watch it.

I'll watch it later with Dimas.

-Won't you open the door? -I have company, Ruffo.

Cláudio, you mean. Let me give him a hug.

Ruffo's here for a visit.

What the hell, sheriff?

Are you arresting me in my undies?

-What's this? -Movie time.

Scooch over.

-Look who's starring in it. -No!

-Who's the guy with Ibrahim? -That's the front man.

Grows cassava, but made a $39.6 million withdrawal.

-Where did the money end up? -Take a guess.

He made a deposit at State Bank

then sent it abroad, right?

Asshole.

Look. What a scumbag.

Do you have a warrant to record this footage?

No, but throw us a bone.

We'll pretend we never saw that,

and then we'll officially watch it.

He's got a nerve.

Rough, right?

If I get you the warrant, will you leave?

No. I loved seeing this interaction...

between the Public Prosecutor's Office and the Federal Police.

-Can you get us a beer? -Sure.

What a scumbag. Look at that.

Yes?

Police.

Thirty-five feet, right? Two meters?

OK, get back to me with--

He wants to know the model.

-Hang up the phone, sir. -Menescal, I have company.

Mr. Roberto Ibrahim?

We have a warrant for your preventive custody.

On what charges?

Capital flight.

I'll call you later, champ, but put in that order for me.

Fine. All the best to you.

Cuff him. Go on.

That was the happiest day of my life.

But it was also the day I found out that in Brazil...

things are never what they seem.

-Can you spare a cigarette? -I've quit that shit.

Welcome to Fantasy Island.

Rice, beans, and noodles. All cold.

A shitty mattress and a hole they call a toilet.

You never went to college, and 15 years is your prize.

Maybe 20, 25.

You'll be in there for so long, you'll need diapers when you get out.

Take care of yourself, man.

Are you making good money?

Career planning, pension, health insurance.

This money... Where do you think it goes?

Are you aware of who my lawyer is?

The Minister of Justice.

You know who pays his salary?

The people whose money passes through my hands.

Meaning Congress. Senators, congressmen, governors...

The PMDB, PSDB, PT parties...

I'll be there for three days, tops.

Three days.

If at all.

Got any tears inside you to be shed?

Get ready to shed them.

Nogueira, step on it!

Step on it, Nogueira!

Get me out of here! Don't want to be stuck with this lunatic!

Head to jail, Nogueira! Come on!

-Let me be. -I let you...

Guess who was the first person to celebrate Ibrahim being locked up?

That's right.

What's up, sheriff?

Stupid Cláudio.

-Want to celebrate? -Kudos on the food choice.

The guy who didn't believe me when I said Ibrahim was a criminal.

Life is like that.

It doesn't always give credit where it's due.

-This is Cláudio. -You good?

Her boyfriend.

Sex slave, not boyfriend.

Excuse me. Is it here?

It's here.

Kibbeh, Moroccan rice, tabbouleh...

-"Ummus," baba ghanoush... -It's hummus.

Hummus, baba ghanoush, open and close-faced sfihas.

Everything except that dessert. What's it called?

What are your intentions with my daughter?

Saw that one coming!

-Is that necessary, Ruffo? -He's just proud.

-A father's pride. -I'm not your daughter.

To the sheriff who put the currency dealer out to pasture.

To the sheriff...

And I'm chopped liver, right? Fine.

-You killed Ibrahim. -Isn't it enough?

We did way better. We put him behind bars.

It's over.

So how was it?

What?

What did the currency dealer say?

Guys, this is delicious.

Chatting with your childhood pal after all these years.

-At the back of the truck? -Yeah.

-I can't tell you. -Come on! Spill it.

It's personal.

"Vengeance is never the end. It kills and poisons the soul."

He's tight with the Minister of Justice.

The Judicial Branch is a shitshow.

The sole institution which may be called serious and honest...

is the Public Prosecutor's Office.

Your client left a bank with $39 million in a briefcase,

deposited the sum at a second bank,

exchanged it, and sent it abroad.

All this was caught on tape.

Did you expect Rigo to let that slide?

Ibrahim cannot remain confined.

Brasília has called three times already. What can I do?

My husband eating prison slop? That won't do.

I've already authorized take-out boxes and a cell phone.

The rest is up to you.

So you are proposing a plea bargain?

Precisely. Ibrahim tells all he knows.

You can ask whatever you want.

Take that information to the judge,

and if that is of any interest, he's released.

-What do you mean? -Deputy...

Do you only care about--

-What deal is this? -Is he free to chime in?

You are not part of this conversation, Deputy.

The guy wasn't willing to help me.

And then made a deal with Ibrahim's wife.

What did he think he was going to get out of that?

The President's fall?

We'll hear what he has to say, but no guarantees.

It's not the Public Prosecution's call. We will hear you out.

Depending on what you have to tell us,

we'll forward it to Rigo and he'll decide what to do.

-I know this man. -Deputy.

Since before she did.

He's going to give you the runaround.

-Ruffo! -I am not on board with this.

You gave him your word.

It can't hurt to hear what he has to say.

Ruffo spent so much time after the guy...

-You can't do this to him. -It's not about Ruffo.

Yeah, Cláudio. It's about what's right.

Ibrahim is bad news.

He'll always be bad news.

There's no deal with people like him.

Too much ambition fucks everything up.

Does the Defense have anything to add?

No, Your Honor.

Any statements from the Public Prosecution?

Ibrahim wasn't going to throw anyone under the bus.

But Cláudio...

No, Your Honor.

...wasn't the only ambitious one.

If the parties involved agree to the terms,

I hereby approve the plea bargain deal

between defendant Roberto Ibrahim,

the Public Prosecution,

and Paraná's Federal Police, in the State Bank capital flight case.

Judge Rigo was even worse.

You're under arrest for defacing property.

Take the deputy away, please.

What are you doing here?

You're finished, man. Official notice and all.

You have five minutes to get out, otherwise I'll have you dragged out.

What would I do when those ideas started whizzing around in my head again?

No one fights a cancer and walks away unharmed.

No one.

Twenty years in the Force,

and all I got was a used car for my wife

and a ranch in the countryside.

Hi.

How's he holding up?

Ruffo was my mentor.

-I'll go see him. -He's in the garage.

I couldn't let him deal with it by himself. But it was difficult.

I was always walking on eggshells, watching what I said.

You're a carpenter now, Ruffo?

Let me guess.

Justice authorized Ibrahim's plea deal,

but he failed to give you any big fish, no politicians.

Next, he called the Minister of Justice...

who called the Pope, and he remains at large.

-Your boyfriend must be happy. -He's not my boyfriend.

Don't do anything stupid, OK?

He could do something crazy at any moment.

Towards others, or towards himself.

Ruffo's story is a hard one to tell.

Every time I remember it, I feel fucking anguished.

Ten years later, Brasília was celebrating.

It would be the third consecutive term for a popular party.

A government that called itself "different."

But I had learned from Ruffo.

They never fooled me.

To me, that government was just like any other.

Never before in this country's history

has a president done so much for the Brazilian people

as our comrade Janete.

-In ten years we achieved the impossible-- -Pardon me, Mr. President.

"In ten years,

we achieved what many deemed to be impossible."

-Simple as that, Mr. President. -OK.

"On the energy front,

Petrobrasil is going to explore the pre-salt layer,

but we didn't forget the environment."

One other thing bugging me is this set.

This is garbage!

It has nothing to do with our voters.

Sir, it's a typical middle-class apartment.

-No! -We're selling them on this.

Too much luxury, too many books! This is a bourgeois household.

"We invested heavily in wind power.

I ordered the development of a new technology

to stockpile wind."

Madam President, try it again from Tony's script.

-He insisted on it. -Is it too much?

-What? -My hair.

-Mr. President... -It's nonsense.

-Let it go. -It won't work!

Thames, my dear!

How are things?

-How are you? -Very well, and you?

I'm fine.

Those people from Goiânia won't stop calling.

-The butchers. -Butchers?

Don't worry about them. They're trustworthy.

You can take them in.

This will only add to our cause. Rest easy.

Janete, my dear!

I never believed the ex-President.

Never liked the Vice-President candidate,

and I've always been suspicious of the President.

What is it?

That's 43 down from the Nobleman's spreadsheet.

-He's pissing and moaning. -Why is he moaning?

We got this in the first round, but we're not miracle workers.

How am I supposed to make up for the 600?

Relax, Duda. I'm taking care of it.

Ruffo was right.

Cancer is cancer.

If you don't remove it quickly, it spreads.

Duda is a pain in the ass.

Ten years later, Ibrahim was still free, living in Brasília,

hanging with big shots.

I'm not that young. What if I stopped?

Have you thought of it?

-Your work is too stressful. -I'm holding it together, huh?

It's not worth it for so little money.

I'll give you some upfront. Say 500? This week?

Six hundred, darling.

-Six hundred, today? -Right now.

His office was on top of a gas station.

The Antenna Gas Station.

That's where he operated from. He and his posse.

How's it going, cousin?

Chebab...

Has Sophia Loren come in yet?

Yes, in yesterday's clothes.

...and Kitano.

So much booze on her breath

she could have blown the whole place sky-high.

They only talked on cell phones.

Tell her I need some back-up here.

And used voice distortion so they wouldn't be recognized.

-How much? -Six hundred.

Again? She'll be pissed.

Tell her to give him cash

and the Nobleman will pay her later.

Hurry, cousin. I dread being left alone with this woman.

They need 600 up front.

-Who's covering? -The Nobleman.

600 NOBLEMAN

Ibrahim was a smart son of a bitch.

There's no denying it.

Who could imagine that a cheap currency exchange store

on top of a crappy jet wash

was moving the financing resources

of the richest presidential campaign in Brazil?

They get easy money.

Just change the woman's glasses, the color of her dress,

comb the hair, play a jingle, and it's done.

Writing a president's speech must not be easy.

With the money they get? I'd write it in Russian!

It was a well-oiled machine.

Some candy, cousin.

Chebab worked out the slush fund accounting

and Kitano took care of the fund transfers.

Hey, how did last night end?

With vows of everlasting love.

They used hard cash every time they could.

So it wouldn't leave traces.

Fuck. Six hundred at such short notice?

Dudinha. You know him. Fucking amateur.

Can't even make a spreadsheet. The Nobleman will cover it, no problem.

Every Thursday they switched phones,

like American drug-runners.

Fucking hard to trace.

It ends with 77 now.

Done, boss.

Rip it up and throw it out. They changed the SIM card.

What day is today?

Thursday.

-The same thing happened last week. -I know.

They have a fixed routine. It's a well-structured operation.

They have structure and money.

Six hundred grand? It's serious money.

Let's track everything again. Do it.

Tap the phones... Cut them loose.

Fucking hard work.

I've just closed the books for the week.

We moved 54 million...

The landline was easier.

But they never used it, so it was of no use to us.

Right now I can't...

Oh, shit!

But God works in mysterious ways.

A little more efficient, please.

Hold on. Just a second.

-Hello? -Cousin?

-Ibra? -Hello, Chebab.

We had an accident here. Call the landline if you need.

I'll explain later.

If Brazil were a serious country,

and the people who worked hard for their money were respected...

If there were such a thing as divine justice

and Good could overcome Evil every time...

If things had been different and Ruffo were still with us...

But there's no justice in Brazil.

God doesn't exist and he isn't Brazilian.

And you can't turn back the clock.

-Boss. -Yes.

The Cousin has a name.

Weren't the phone taps down?

They were, but Chebab called Ibra from a landline.

-Called who? -Ibra.

Ten years later, fate gave me the chance to capture Ibrahim for good.

And Ruffo wasn't with us anymore.

I was not Ruffo. I never would be.

But I owed this to him.

BASED ON THE BOOK LAVA JATO BY VLADIMIR NETTO

Translated by: Ricardo Dell'Aera Dannemann Team LiBERTAD