Before a man handed her a single dollar in exchange for sex, before she was branded like a young Angus put out to graze, before the trip across state lines and the unwanted pregnancy and the punches to her belly and the testimony she gave despite fear of retribution from a man she called “Daddy”—before all that, there was a phone call. It happened in 2009, on one of those party line services where you pay to talk with strangers. At 14 years old, Jasmine shouldn’t have been using the adults-only service. But her brothers weren’t going to snitch, and chances were her mother was too high to notice or care. As for her father, well—there wasn’t one to speak of.
The architect is making a mistake. Standing before a large screen in the industrial-chic conference room of his office downtown, he begins his presentation with a leisurely overview of what can be done to the property at 500 South Mateo Street, a five-sided, single-story building on a patchy block in the nearby arts district. His audience of eight seems attentive.
It was already nearly 4 a.m. on a sticky June night in 2008, and the LaGuardia Houses on the Lower East Side were crawling with cops. It was the kind of situation Neal normally prefers to avoid. Where police are, he'd rather not be.
When the trouble came to 90 Elizabeth Street, it arrived quietly, in a flurry of white papers. They blanketed the mailboxes and the front doors of many of the tenants in the modest Chinatown apartment building, a forbidding snowdrift of eggshell, piled with angry black type.
His family soon realized that he was slower than most children. He didn't walk until he was five. He didn't know how to use his hands or feet. He couldn't speak, because he didn't know how to use his tongue. He took special-ed classes. The family lived in the Bronx, and didn't have much money, but spent what they could on doctors and speech therapists. One doctor told them that half of Reynaldo's brain worked fine but the other half worked at 40 percent of normal. He would never learn to read or write. "They say the other baby took away all the strength that he needed to have," his older sister, Mercedes, says.
Some 600 fashionably dressed guests arrive at the newly completedPark Hyatt New York (H) hotel, embedded at the base of the tallest operational residential skyscraper in the city. They’re greeted by black-garbed receptionists, who scrutinize them closely to make sure they belong.
Art dealer Christophe Van de Weghe strode into Christie’s auction house in New York with orders from a mystery client. His mission that night, Nov. 12, 2013, was to buy a specific painting—for which the client was willing to pay an astonishingly high price.
ON SEPTEMBER 15, 2008, Lynn Becker got the phone call every hog farmer fears.For months on end, pork producers across the Midwest had been struggling against record-low prices per head, but Becker had taken steps to protect his family's farm against contractions of the market.