Men like Arturo only read names when they believe those names belong to them.
After he and Camila disappeared in the elevator, the receptionist made a call silently.
“He is here.”
Seven floors below, Mariana was in a boardroom with Octavio Barrios, her family’s lawyer of thirty years. She wore a navy blue suit and had the face of a woman who had already finished crying. Recipes for the family dinner
Octavio placed a thick bag on the table.
“He arrived with Camila Ríos. Presidential suite. Dinner tomorrow at eight.”
Mariana looked at the bag.
“He chose this hotel.”
“He could have chosen any place,” Octavio said. “But he chose yours.”
For years, Arturo had convinced Mariana that she didn’t understand finance. After her father died, he advised her, guided her, and persuaded her to sign documents. PART 1
“The presidential suite. And make sure no one disturbs us.”
Arturo Ledesma placed his black card on the marble counter of the Gran Hotel Alvarado as if money alone could buy silence, loyalty, and respect.
The woman standing next to him was not his wife.
Camila Ríos smiled radiantly, holding the designer handbag that Arturo had given her two weeks earlier. She was young, elegant, and clearly impressed by the chandeliers, fresh flowers, polished floors, and luxurious ambiance of the hotel.
Arturo loved that expression on her face.
He liked feeling powerful.
