He didn’t even glance down at Don Arnulfo’s outstretched hand. He walked right past it as if it were a piece of furniture, just another decorative column. Arnulfo’s smile froze into a grotesque grimace. His hands hung suspended in mid-air.
The Secretary of Defense stared at a distant point in the room. He walked with a martial stride, his boots clattering on the polished marble floor. Behind him, four major generals followed in perfect formation.
The silence in the hall was absolute. The clinking of ice melting in the glasses could be heard. Hundreds of heads turned, following the General’s movements.
Where was he going?
He walked past the senators’ table. He ignored the bankers’ table. He crossed the empty dance floor
Don Arnulfo, pale and confused, turned to see what was happening. The General was heading to the darkest corner of the room. To the service area. Toward the chauffeurs’ table.
Don Arnulfo’s heart stopped for a moment. It couldn’t be.
General Valdez stopped abruptly in front of the humble table at the back. In front of the man in the simple guayabera who was drinking water.