The clock read 6:37 in the morning when Andrés Herrera slammed the door of his small apartment in the working-class neighborhood.
The clock read 6:37 a.m. when Andrés Herrera slammed the door of his small apartment in the working-class neighborhood. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and his hands trembled from overthinking the matter. He clutched tightly a cheap briefcase that held his only hope: a USB drive with a video that, he believed,…
