La Hacienda was a monstrous building copied from Italian architecture. Only the tropical plants at the entrance reminded the visitors that they were in South America and not Southern Italy. The stone stairs that led to the second level were polished to a high sheen and the marble entryway loomed above like that of a train station. Wings of the building seemed to go off in every direction to offices that could handle all the workers in the entire government.
“Welcome, welcome,” El Presidente greeted them as they were shown into his office. The short, stout man who stood proudly at attention gave a curt head nod of greeting. He was nearing sixty. His military background, and yes, his military uniforms, had long ago given way to a more sedentary lifestyle. Now he wore a conservative dark gra
