This content is available to subscribers and issue purchasers.
Like a scene from an old horror movie, Zophia Adamowicz watched with excitement as bursts of energy illuminated the city’s skyscape. For Zophia, lightning held the key to a new existence she believed she deserved, one that her mother’s talent and fame should have secured. For that, she needed help from the heavens. Not something divine. Something devastating. “Is that you, Mrs. Diaz? I can’t see through the peephole. The hallway’s completely dark.” Paloma Diaz aimed her flashlight at her own face, and Zophia saw the wrinkles of worriment etched there. “Come in, Mrs. Diaz,” Zophia said, opening her door