Santos last saw his wife, 3 year-old daughter and 5 year-old son three months ago when he left them at his sister’s. They had no choice but to leave Venezuela when they did. He considered himself blessed that they had made it safely to Mexico, where his sister had moved years before. He’d merely been a driver for high end customers between the airport and downtown. He didn’t even know who most of them were—journalists or diplomats, he assumed. Now he was in Phoenix, Arizona driving for a transportation company under a false license. The money was good, but he’d paid so much to cross the U.S. border, and even more for the license. He was working as many hours as he could, and he hadn’t even started to save payment for his family. He was growing desperate.