On August 23, 2006, Roberto Campos walked out of his home in Lindavista like he had done countless mornings before—quietly, routinely, without leaving behind even the smallest hint that it would be the last time.
He kissed Patricia on the forehead, ruffled the hair of Daniel and Alejandro as they ate breakfast, and stepped into the street with his worn briefcase in hand. Patricia watched him disappear into the flow of commuters heading toward Montevideo Avenue, just another man blending into the endless rhythm of Mexico City.