At the multimillionaire’s wife’s funeral, a homeless girl pointed at the casket and screamed, “She’s not dead! I saw him lock her in!” The husband sneered, “Get this lunatic out of here.” But when the lock broke and the lid slid open, what lay inside made the entire crowd freeze in terror…

laundry lines. The smell of wealth was replaced by the acrid tang of exhaust and desperation.

Tala sat in the back of my SUV, dwarfed by the leather seats, yet she navigated the urban maze with the precision of a seasoned captain. “Turn left by the bakery with the red door,” she instructed my driver. “Go past the bus stop with the peeling mural of the continue reading …