Parlor Games A Novel

FOR RUDOLPH’S FAMILY



NEW YORK TO MEXICO—OCTOBER-NOVEMBER 1902



It had been over a year since I’d absented myself from my husband’s side, so I wasn’t surprised when Rudolph insisted I return to Holland by Christmas. I left Arkansas in October and relegated oversight of the hotel sale to Gene. For safe measure, I asked Frank to review any documents related to sale offers. She was altogether amenable: “You can count on me; it’s all in the family now,” to which I’d responded, “I can hardly believe we’ll soon be sisters-in-law.”

Before sailing for Liverpool, I decided to stop a few days at the home of Rudolph’s uncle and his wife, who lived in New York City. I’d had occasion to get acquainted with Philip and Saskia during their visits to Dalfsen in the early years of my marriage. Six years ago, they had relocated to New York and taken a home on West Fifty-eighth Street.

Philip and Saskia had decorated their brownstone in the latest style, Art Nouveau, with elegant swan-neck lamps gracing side tables and finely crafted furniture of curvaceous design in every room. My first evening in New York, we dined in their cozy dining room and afterward retreated to the parlor for Cognac. As I relaxed in an armchair with legs as arced and branching as deer antlers, I asked, “Are you settling permanently in New York?”

Saskia, a large-proportioned woman with the grace of a ballerina, smiled at this. “We rather enjoy the city’s offerings. Especially the Metropolitan Opera. It’s surprisingly good.”

“I’ve never been.” Knowing that Saskia had performed some mezzo opera roles in Holland, I said, “But your appraisal makes me want to go.”

Saskia’s wide-set green eyes brightened. “Really? I could get orchestra seats for us. Why don’t you stay on for a while?”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve finally put the hotel up for sale, and Rudolph is expecting me.”

But within two days I had relented. The truth is, I’d fallen a little in love with the couple: with Saskia’s flair for Art Nouveau décor, infectious love of opera, and generous, unpretentious manner; as well as with Philip’s sad-looking face, unfailing chivalry, and charming habit of chastely kissing Saskia’s cheek at the slightest excuse.

Then, the day I planned to secure my ticket for the crossing, Saskia insisted we have a serious chat and asked the maid to prepare tea service for the three of us.

We sat in our customary places in the parlor. The usually suave Philip cleared his throat, as if to summon courage. He set his high brow and narrow jaw into solemn thoughtfulness. “There’s something we’d like to discuss with you, May. A rather sensitive matter.”

“We’re family,” I said, inching to the edge of my seat and perching there. “You can speak openly with me.”

“I’ve bid on an iron-mining interest in Mexico. A very large contract.”

“Has the bidding closed?”

“It should have, but I’ve learned the time’s been extended. We don’t really know how these things work over here.”

“You’re worried about how it’s being handled?”

“Yes. I submitted a rather handsome bid, thinking that would settle the matter.”

“And the contract is obviously important to you.”

He clamped his hands together. “My business may not survive without it.”

I knew Philip’s business manufactured cast metal items—cooking vessels mostly. “Your business is struggling?”

“It’s hard to compete with all the new U.S. companies.”

“I see.” I eased my cup and saucer onto the side table. All this time, Saskia had held herself statue-still, shifting her gaze only enough to track the measured volley of our exchange.

Philip gripped the arm of the settee, leaned to the side, and crossed one leg over the other. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I need this contract to sell in the American market. And I know you’ve managed business deals in Japan and the U.S.”

They needed—and trusted—me. How could I not help such darlings? Turning to Philip, I said, “If there’s anything at all I can do, I will be glad to help.”



The next morning, Philip arranged our travel to Mexico City and wrote Rudolph a long letter explaining the circumstances. I spent the day bustling about: purchasing clothes suitable for the conduct of business, as well as books on Mexico and the Spanish language; requesting that Frank submit a bid to the Mexican government on behalf of Iron Mountain Mining (a company I invented to serve the purpose of the trip); and unpacking my steamer trunk and packing two suitcases for what could be a stay of a few weeks in Mexico. Still, I managed to dash a cablegram off to Rudolph: DARLING MUST ASSIST PHILIP ON BUSINESS IN MEXICO STOP MORE TO FOLLOW FROM HIM STOP LOVE MAY STOP.

One of Philip’s business associates had wisely cultivated a contact in the Mexican government. During the train journey, Philip briefed me on his findings: the names of parties submitting competitive bids; transaction dates; and offices and entities involved. I made a record of the information for future reference and secreted it away in the bottom compartment of my traveling case. Philip wired for a reservation for himself and Saskia at the Gran Hotel Ciudad de México, a luxurious establishment near the National Palace. I later made my own reservation at the same hotel.

When our train arrived in Mexico City, we took separate carriages to the hotel. As much as I enjoyed their company, I had a job to do, and it required the utmost discretion. I used my rudimentary Spanish to request transport to the Gran Hotel, and my driver embarked on a winding journey through a maze of streets: past a mix of buildings, some in smooth adobe, others with Spanish-style towers and arches; among donkeys and the occasional horse, their heads dipping and rising as they pulled their carts and wagons; and along a broad avenue with a line of electric cars. Mexico City was unlike any other city I’d ever visited: set in a bowl-shaped valley and surrounded by mountains; its streets teeming with men in broad-brimmed hats and women in bright-colored dresses; the air thin and dusty; but everywhere people, great hordes of people, as if they’d decided en masse to throng the late-afternoon streets.

When I walked into the lobby of the Gran Hotel, wonder tinged with disappointment washed over me. If only I could have shared the moment with Philip and Saskia. Standing in the middle of the Art Nouveau lobby, I hardly knew where to look first: at the canopy of turquoise, yellow, and red-orange stained glass arching high above; at the open-cage elevator of coal-dark metal flourished with golden knobs; or at the curving layers of wrought-iron rails lining the upper floors opening onto the lobby. Perhaps later, once we had managed the business deal, the three of us could enjoy it together. But for now our communications would be restricted to behind-closed-door meetings in our hotel rooms.

The next morning, I set out on my mission. I ordered a carriage and asked to be driven to the Palacio Nacional. The ride took me only three blocks from the hotel. If I had known the way well enough, I would have simply strolled the distance. November’s weather, crisp but dry and sunny, certainly presented no impediment. Henceforth, I resolved, I would walk and enjoy the avenue’s tall, open-branched trees and gardens of exotic plants, some with leaves as large as fans and others with thick, pointed shoots.

The National Palace’s fortress-strong front stretched the length of a New York City block. Atop the tower at the building’s midpoint, the Mexican flag’s green, white, and red bands sagged in uneven parallels. In order to open the palace’s bulky doors of carved concentric geometries, I had to grip the handle firmly and shift the whole of my weight backward. Along the first level’s wide corridor, people stood in lines before service counters staffed by men in olive-green shirts. I walked to the end of this corridor and found another of the same length, this one with closed doors that probably housed workaday administrators.

The palace’s air smelled of grimy chalk, as if its surfaces had absorbed the oils and perspiration of thousands. On the walls, rich-colored paintings depicted Mexican history: warriors of an ancient civilization gathering beneath a stone temple; a landscape of the fledgling Mexico City against a background of misty mountain peaks; a military battle against Spaniards in the city streets; and Mayans harvesting corn and honoring the sun. I strolled the whole rectangle of the building, acclimating myself to the business-like clip of men in light-colored suits, their furtive glances, and the droop of their swarthy mustaches.

The high-level officials, I reasoned, must occupy the second floor. Mounting the stairs, I reached a hallway of inlaid marble floors with high ceilings supported by arched buttresses. Reddish-brown wood doors separated broad expanses of the halls, suggesting that large or multichambered offices lay behind them. At the end of one of the corridors, four guards stood at attention in front of an unmarked door, perhaps that of President Porfirio Díaz himself. I surveyed the complete rectangle of this floor. Fewer persons walked these halls, and those I did pass studied me with open curiosity. I saw not a single woman on this level. Maybe that would work in my favor—if I could convey the authoritative tone of one who grasped government business dealings, as well as the diplomacy and tact they required.

I closed the loop of my walk before the door labeled “Secretaría de Recursos José Elvira Pérez.” Spreading my shoulders square and high, I opened the door. A young man in a suit too wide for his sloping shoulders looked up at me, raising his caterpillar-thick eyebrows. The nameplate on his desk read “César López Álvarez.” He leaned forward in his seat, his left hand spread over a document, his right hand gripping a pen. Open wood boxes on the side of his desk brimmed with papers. I assumed the closed door at the rear of the twenty-by-thirty-foot waiting area led to the inner sanctum of the Secretary of Resources.

“Buenos días, señor, ” I said, striding to his desk.

Mr. López Álvarez smiled and nodded. “Buenos días, señorita.”

“¿Usted habla inglés?”

“Yes, a little.”

Ah, I thought, one tiny problem solved. “I would like to make an appointment to see Secretary Elvira Pérez.”

“What is your business, señorita?”

“The iron-mining contract. I’m Florence Walker, from the United States. A representative of Iron Mountain Mining.” I’d removed my wedding ring and donned a business-style suit for my new identity.

He reached for a worn notebook and flipped it open. “He is very busy until next week.”

It was only Tuesday. I doubted I could afford to put this off until the following week. “Not even ten minutes someday this week?”

“No, señorita.” He hunched a shoulder as if to ease the bad news and tapped the page of the notebook. “He can see you next Tuesday. At noon.”

“Please do schedule me.” I touched my fingertips to the edge of his desk. “And can you tell me, señor, the best museums to visit in Mexico City?”

After a perfunctory exchange of pleasantries with Mr. López Álvarez, I hiked back to the hotel. But the altitude left me winded, and I was unable to strike a fast pace or take much delight in the brisk air or cloudless azure sky.

Once the hallway outside Philip and Saskia’s room emptied, I knocked on their door. No answer. I scribbled a note and pushed it under the door. They can’t have gone far, I thought: They know I was to visit the National Palace this morning. For over an hour, I waited in my room. Although hunger gnawed at me, I dared not leave for fear of missing them. Finally, they rapped on my door.

I ushered them in, and we settled around the coffee table.

Saskia, uncharacteristically subdued, patted Philip’s thigh.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

Philip moistened his lips, and his mouth clucked with dryness. “The winner will be made public this Friday. I’ve been outbid.”





ONE LAST BID



MEXICO CITY—NOVEMBER 1902



So much for our plan.” I walked to my hotel-room window and gazed absently down on the avenue. Spare-branched treetops stood inert in the breezeless sky. Beneath their boughs, suited men, perhaps officials from nearby offices, and the occasional woman sauntered along, all of them probably making their way to a midday meal. My stomach rumbled; I smoothed a hand over it. Hungry as I was, I had to think.

I glanced over my shoulder at Philip and Saskia. They sat side by side on the couch, hunkered over their knees and staring at the floor.

“All this way,” said Philip. “And for what?”

Saskia draped her hand over Philip’s shoulder and muttered something in Dutch.

I strode before them and stood akimbo. “From what little I understand, the Díaz government isn’t above striking back-door deals.”

Philip looked up at me. Early afternoon’s bright light deepened the creases between his eyebrows and the wrinkles tugging at his mouth. He shook his head. “True, but it is not easy to penetrate their circle.”

“We mustn’t give up yet.” I’d set out to help Philip with this business matter, and I was determined to succeed.

Philip leaned back on the couch and looked up at me. “The announcement won’t be made until Friday,” he said, a hint of hopefulness lifting the end of his sentence.

Saskia allowed herself the glimmer of a smile. “If anyone can solve this problem, it’s May.”

“I must manage an audience with Secretary Elvira Pérez,” I said. Grabbing my hat from the dresser, I rushed to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Florence Walker has business to conduct.”

When I got to the National Palace, I found the door to the Secretary’s office locked. I walked around the second-floor rectangle twice, trying the door each pass. When, on my third go-round, I spotted Mr. López Álvarez unlocking the door, I hurried to let myself in.

“Señor, do you mind if I wait and see if the Secretary can spare a few minutes?”

“I doubt he will be available, señorita, but you may stay.”

I sank onto the red sofa against the wall perpendicular to his desk. Although I wished to strike a friendly note with Mr. López Álvarez, I simply couldn’t summon the energy for conversation. Arranging my skirt comfortably over my knees and legs, my hands on my lap, and my spine flat against the sofa, I endeavored to rest my body and compose my thoughts. Once Mr. López Álvarez’s absorption in his work exceeded his interest in my presence, I even closed my eyes.

Not an hour later, a man in a sand-beige suit rushed in. He glanced at me as he passed and then greeted Mr. López Álvarez by his first name. After that, they spoke rapidly in Spanish. Although I could not comprehend the content of their brief discussion, I discerned that the visitor, who threw up his hands as he hustled off, left disappointed.

I looked inquiringly at César.

“You see,” he said, “not even his son can get in.”

“His son.” I slanted my head in thoughtfulness. “I believe my associate met him last year. I’ve forgotten his name.”

“It is Alonso Elvira Alamo.”

I rose. “Yes, that’s it. I really should convey my regards. If you’ll excuse me.”

I bolted out of the office and headed down the hall to the stairway, lifting my skirt enough so I could lengthen my stride to a trot. There he was, rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

I bounded down the steps on the balls of my feet—to keep my heels from clacking on the marble stairs. As he opened the main door, I called out, “Señor Elvira Alamo.”

He pivoted around. “¿Sí?”

He stood stock-still, his compact five-seven-ish frame centered in the doorway. Bright light glowed around his head, sun-blinding me to his expression. Had I surprised him? Was he annoyed?

A million tiny sunbursts sparked before my eyes. My legs wobbled like rubber. Then I fainted.



Moist fingertips dabbed my cheeks. I fluttered my eyes open to find myself lying on the red couch in the Secretary’s office. Mr. Elvira Alamo knelt beside me, spritzing my face with water, and César stood beside him, gazing down on me.

“Señorita,” said César, “you are well?”

Mr. Elvira Alamo swiftly withdrew his hand, as if he’d been caught at an uninvited intimacy, and asked, “Shall I get a doctor?”

His voice, as fluid and sonorous as a cello, calmed me. He fixed his chocolate-brown eyes on me in an expression concentrated with concern. He had an oval face, with a refined brow and gently sloping nose, and his black hair coiled against his skull in a mass of curls—reminiscent of a bust of Apollo. I flushed at the realization that he had carried me here. Lifting myself up on my elbows, I said, “No, no, it’s the altitude, that’s all.”

Mr. Elvira Alamo rattled some command to César, who rushed out. He offered his hand. “Are you able to sit up?”

I gripped his smooth, dry palm and righted myself. “Forgive me for inconveniencing you. I’ll be fine.”

Mr. Elvira Alamo rose from his knees and seated himself beside me. “You have just arrived here?”

“Yes, late yesterday.” I blinked from dizziness and slouched forward. My limbs tingled with weakness. The spasm in my hollow stomach reminded me: I was voraciously hungry.

“Where are you from?”

“Michigan. I’ve come to see your father on business.”

Mr. Elvira Alamo chuckled. “First you must rest. I will take you to your hotel.”

César returned with a glass of water. I gulped every drop, relishing its coolness coating my tongue, coursing down my throat, and pooling in the pit of my stomach.

“Thank you. I needed that.”

Mr. Elvira Alamo escorted me down the stairs to the street and signaled for a carriage.

He helped me into the compartment and sat across from me. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, a little. I’ve overexerted myself.”

“Do you have any traveling companions?”

I smoothed my thumb over the inside of my bare ring finger, assured by the absence of my wedding ring. And I knew no one could have seen me with Philip and Saskia. “No, I’m here alone.”

“Then you must allow me to stay with you. Until you are sure you do not need a doctor.”

“No, really. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I insist,” he said. “You are a guest in my country.”

At the moment, I could think of little other than food. “Then, if you would allow me to buy you a meal, I would be grateful for the company.”

But Mr. Elvira Alamo objected when I requested the bill for our afternoon luncheon, which turned into a relaxed, indulgent affair. “You are in Mexico, señorita. The man pays here. And we are not finished. You must try our special coffee drink, with chocolate.”

“What a lovely meal,” I said, waving my hand over the table. “The ceviche, the pambazos. Everything.”

The sun slanted under the eave of our west-facing window, intensifying the ocher reds and yellows of our scraped-clean plates. The satisfaction of a meal much needed and agreeable company to pass it with suffused me.

Mr. Elvira Alamo looped his arm over the back of his chair. “You were hungry, sí?”

I nodded. “I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to Mexican cuisine, Mr. Elvira Alamo.”

“Por favor, you will call me Alonso.”

“Then I am Florence.”

“And how long are you visiting, Florence?”

“At least as long as my business takes. I must meet with your father.”

“He is not an easy man to see.”

“I have an appointment next week, but I’d hoped to see him sooner.”

Alonso planted a finger on his cheek, as if he were concocting a plan. “He will attend a state reception Thursday evening. Would you like to join me?”

“That would be lovely.”

Alonso’s complexion glowed with an umber burnish, and he smiled with the abandon of a guileless youngster. “Perhaps tomorrow you will permit me to show you around the city? To the places I have told you about?”



I spent all of Wednesday afternoon sightseeing with Alonso, touring the expansive Zócalo, the Metropolitan Cathedral, and Alameda Park. When he dropped me off at the Gran Hotel in the early-evening hours, I took the elevator to the third floor and waited for an opportunity to knock undetected on Philip and Saskia’s door. This time they were waiting for me.

Saskia took my hand and whisked me in. “I can’t wait to hear about your day.”

“Florence, darling.” Philip stood by the couch in a black velvet smoking jacket, a thumb tucked into his red sash belt. He chuckled—I imagined over using my assumed name—and pointed at a bottle of brandy on the coffee table. “Come, have a drink.”

Saskia and I joined Philip around the coffee table. He poured for us, and I lifted my glass in a toast: “To the next step.”

Without taking a sip, Saskia lowered her glass to the table. “You’ve had some success?”

“It’s too soon to use that word. But Alonso has promised to introduce me to his father tomorrow evening.”

“Does Alonso hold a government post?” Philip asked.

“He’s a lawyer. And, from what I can gather, an unofficial assistant to his father.”

Philip rolled his glass between his palms. “Then we should discuss strategy.”

“I have an idea,” I said.

By the time we’d reviewed my plan twice, the bottle’s contents had dropped a few inches and I was ready to declare, “Enough, for goodness’ sake. Isn’t there a Dutch version of that expression about beating a dead horse? Or don’t you trust me to think on my feet?” Instead, I said, “I have to tell you about the most thrilling experience I had today.”

Philip blinked his eyes into focus.

I set my glass on the table. “Alonso knows the curator of the University of Mexico’s rare-book collection.”

Saskia, as alert as daybreak, folded her hands on her lap and tilted her head.

“He showed us a fourteenth-century copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy.”

“How extraordinary,” said Saskia.

I held my right hand up, contemplating my fingertips. “I touched a page of the Inferno.”



“I must keep you by my side,” Alonso said as we walked arm in arm into the National Palace. “All the men here will want to steal you from me.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” I said, pleased I’d packed my maroon gown. It was perfect for the occasion.

He raised his eyebrows in an is-that-so question.

I squeezed his arm. “Not that I would want to be stolen from you.”

The palace’s interior courtyard flickered with fist-thick candles planted on iron pedestals. At the court’s center, blazing firepots arranged beneath canopies provided sanctuary from the chill night air. Waiters in white jackets carried trays of refreshments, handing them off and then glancing away, like shuttlecocks batted from one racket to another. As we waded into the thick of the gathering, Alonso signaled a passing waiter and whisked two drinks off his tray.

He offered me a glass. “Wine for you?”

“Please,” I said, accepting the glass and tilting it toward the crowd. “Are these all government officials?”

“Sí. And their guests.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“A Belgian delegation is visiting.”

I sipped my wine and surveyed the guests. “On any particular business?”

“They want to sell steel rails for our National Railroad.”

“They’re not bidding on the iron mining?”

“No, they want the rails business.” Alonso steered us toward a table overflowing with hors d’oeuvres.

I tucked my hand under his arm. “I imagine the bidding is all very confidential.”

“It depends on who you are.”

Squeezing his arm, I said, “You’re obviously a man of many hats.”

Alonso glanced sidelong at me, arching an eyebrow. “Spoken by a woman of mystery.”

“For the moment,” I said, hunching a shoulder, “I’m a businesswoman.”

“And you are worried about your company’s bid.”

“Of course, but I also have other business with your father.”

Alonso reached for an empanada. “Tomorrow they will announce the winner.”

“And you say you don’t know much about it.”

“He is my father.”

I swung around in front of him and brought my face close to his. “I have some information that may be of interest to him—about the bidding. Do you think you could arrange a private meeting tonight?”

“For you, I will try,” he said.



The meeting arranged and the reception winding down, Alonso and I scurried to the Secretary’s office and settled on the couch in the waiting room. The tap, tap, tap of a man’s compact heels sounded in the hallway, the volume of their beat ever increasing until they stopped abruptly. Secretary Elvira Pérez entered. He was short and thickset, with shiny black hair and eyes like those of a lynx—quick and concentrated.

I stood and extended my hand. “Señor Elvira Pérez. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Señorita Walker,” he said, giving my hand a delicate squeeze and motioning toward his office. “My pleasure. Please, come in.”

He opened the door to a spacious office—of perhaps seven hundred square feet—with a rectangular red carpet emblazoned with the government seal, a desk situated two-thirds of the way from the entrance, and oil portraits of distinguished-looking men lining the walls. Secretary Elvira Pérez motioned for Alonso and me to seat ourselves in the thick-armed wooden chairs in front of his desk.

He eased into the carved high-back chair behind his desk. “You are from Iron Mountain Mining, Señorita Walker?”

“Yes, sir. As you know, we submitted a bid on the iron contract.”

“We had many bids. I regret to inform you that yours was not the highest.”

“Yes, I know.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez tucked his steepled fingers under his chin. “May I ask how you learned this?”

“Not from Alonso, I can assure you.”

He and his son exchanged amused glances. The Secretary looked to me. “I assume that means you will not tell me how you learned.”

“I’m sorry, señor. I can’t.”

“Do you also know that we will announce the winning bid tomorrow?”

“That is why I wished to speak with you this evening.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez interwove his fingers and rested his hands on his desk. “Yes?”

I looked down at my lap and demurely raised my eyes. “I believe I can bring in a better bid.”

“From your company?”

“No, sir. My company has made its best offer.”

“Then from whom?”

“A Dutch company.”

The Secretary tilted his head questioningly. “If it is not your company, why involve yourself?”

“I have several reasons. Most would not interest you. Except perhaps one: your son.” I smiled at Alonso, who sat back in his chair, his eyes bright with mirth. I looked back to Secretary Elvira Pérez. “I am here alone, and he helped me when I needed assistance. I should like to repay the kindness.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez spread his interlocked hands, flipping his thumbs up. “Is it truly as simple as that?”

“I have no financial connection to this Dutch company, sir, if that is what you’re asking.”

“And what can you tell me of it?”

“It is based in Holland but also has a U.S. office. By happenstance, a contact of mine learned they have great interest.”

“This all sounds very vague.” Mr. Elvira Pérez tossed his head in a show of impatience or perhaps exasperation.

“I know your time is valuable, señor.” I leaned forward on my chair. “I offer you the same discretion I am affording the source of my information.”

“I would have to reopen the bidding to even consider this.”

I knew from Philip’s report that his department had manipulated the bidding period to allow a Mexican company to win the contract. “Yes, I understand you may not wish to open the bidding a second time.”

Even if Mr. Elvira Pérez wondered how I had gathered this intelligence, he showed not the least discomfort at my insinuation that the bidding had been fixed. Or perhaps he cared little about that. Still, I was an American, and he probably preferred not to alienate American business interests. He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingertips on his desk. “And you think this would be worth my trouble?”

Secretary Elvira Pérez appeared anxious to be done with me. I could think of only one way to convince him that what I desired most was to serve his interests. “You could name the figure that would make it worth your trouble, sir.”

The Secretary massaged the tuft of beard below the center of his bottom lip and regarded me with somber, inquiring eyes.

I returned his gaze, softening the lines around my eyes and mouth into respectful complaisance.

He reached for his pen and a slip of paper and dashed out a line. Holding the paper before me, he said, “Can your party have its bid on my desk by ten tomorrow morning?”

Studying the number, I said, “I can convey the message that they must if they wish to be considered.”

He crumpled the paper in his fist, pocketed it, and stood. “Now, what you have come for, señorita. The view from my office is lovely this time of night.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez was obviously signaling that our meeting was over—and that I should pretend it had never even happened. But this only confirmed my hunch that he considered it a fruitful exchange and that my mission had been accomplished.