The indictment reads like a ledger of cruelty: rooms packed so tight people could barely breathe, children sleeping on concrete, drivers ordered to push deeper into the desert even when water ran low. For the leaders, each “load” was just another payout, another wire transfer, another night the engines didn’t stop. When death came, it was treated as a cost of doing business, not a reason to walk away.
Now, bank accounts, safe houses, and vehicles are being stripped from the accused, their names dragged into the light they thought they’d outrun. In court, prosecutors talk about deterrence and disruption; outside, families search for faces in redacted documents, wondering if their missing loved ones were part of this machinery. The case may end with prison terms and forfeitures, but its real weight lives in the empty chairs back home, where no verdict can bring anyone back.