His father humi:liated him and made him sit with the chauffeurs for being “a failure,” but he was stunned when the most powerful man in the country walked into the wedding just to greet him.

Opulence permeated every corner of the Grand Ballroom of the Imperial Hotel. It was the wedding of the year, the event that brought the city’s high society to a standstill. Crystal chandeliers, immense like clouds of diamonds, hung from vaulted ceilings, illuminating tables draped with imported silks and silver cutlery. The air smelled of expensive perfumes, exotic flowers brought that very morning from Europe, and above all, it smelled of money. Lots of money

At the center of that universe of vanity stood Don Arnulfo Mondragón. Wearing his custom-made tuxedo and holding a glass of French champagne, he strolled among the senators, industrial magnates, and retired generals, smiling with the self-satisfaction only men who believe they own the world possess. Today he was marrying off Rico, his favorite son, his pride and joy, the heir who had followed in his footsteps in business and who would multiply the family fortune.

But in the shadows of that brilliant celebration, there was a figure who stood out.