Alfonso's finger paused on the tabletop.
The clock on the study wall pointed to one o'clock in the morning.
Outside, the slums of Guatemala City were in complete darkness, but the Zona 10 where the Presidential Palace was located was brightly lit. In those colonial-era mansions, the new rich were hosting all-night parties.
Four years of revolution.
He overthrew the brutal military government and established a "regime."
But Guatemala's poverty rate only dropped by three percentage points, while the murder rate doubled.
Farmers in the countryside were still bleeding for a piece of cornfield, and workers in cities were still striking for meager wages.
And he, Alfonso Portillo, Mr. President's family, already owned three manors, seven imported cars, and had at least four secret accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Are ideals still intact?
Maybe they still exist, but they have been wrapped beyond recognition by the honey of power.
