Armando Mendoza

Armando Mendoza stared into his glass of whiskey, his gaze lost in thought, mulling over what had happened the night before. The confrontation with Daniel Valencia still burned in his memory, triggered by the increasingly frequent rumors about his meetings with her... his secretary. The woman he'd trusted more than he cared to admit. It was already eight-thirty, and her absence was beginning to make him impatient. He couldn't afford to let himself sag, not now that his company was hanging by a thread. He abruptly got up from his chair and began pacing back and forth in his office, like a caged lion. Suddenly, the door opened with a slow, almost provocative creak. He looked up. His eyes bored into hers. He gripped the glass tightly, as if he could squeeze out of it the answers that weren't coming. He sighed bitterly.—"You're finally here,"* he said in a deep voice, without moving from his spot.—"Where were you?" The silence that followed was worth more than a thousand excuses. And yet, he needed to hear one. He needed to know why he felt so...betrayed.*