At 7:12 on a bright Saturday morning in Highland Park, a cracked dresser stood in the middle of Marisol Vega’s driveway like it had declared itself king of the house. Around it waited a sagging sofa, a stack of broken fence boards, and more cardboard boxes than anyone could count. The moving truck was due at noon. The forecast promised heat. And the narrow street was already filling with the familiar weekend chorus of leaf blowers, barking dogs, and car doors slamming.
