The Gran Imperial Hotel looked like the kind of place where wealthy
people came to forget that ordinary problems existed.
Crystal chandeliers hung above the lobby.
White marble reflected golden light.
A pianist played near a wall of orchids.
Guests moved between polished columns carrying designer bags and glasses
of champagne.
Alejandro Montero barely noticed any of it.
At thirty-nine, he had spent most of his adult life moving through
expensive rooms.
Luxury had become background noise.
He owned hotels.
Construction companies.
Shopping centers.
Office towers.
His name appeared on contracts large enough to employ thousands of
people.
That evening, he entered the Gran Imperial with Valeria Cruz beside him.
Valeria wore a red dress.
She was beautiful.
Confident.
And three months into a relationship Alejandro still had not decided how
to describe.
She called herself his girlfriend.
Alejandro usually did not correct her.
He had been lonely for seven months.
