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.

Leo Mondragón had just stepped out of an ordinary taxi at the main entrance. There was no valet parking for him, nor were there any photographers waiting to capture his arrival. While the other guests descended from armored limousines and sports cars, Leo adjusted the collar of his white guayabera. It was a simple, impeccable garment, made of cool linen, but it lacked the formal dress code the invitation required. He wasn’t wearing a gold watch or designer cufflinks. His hands, weathered by the sun and hard work, hung peacefully at his sides.

It had been ten years since Leo had set foot in that world. Ten years since the night he broke with the destiny his father had laid out for him. He remembered Don Arnulfo’s shouts echoing in the office: “The army? That’s for the down-and-out! In this family, we do business, we don’t play with toy soldiers!” Leo had left that very night with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a promise never to ask anyone for a penny again.

And he had done it.