"A 6-Year-Old Homeless Girl Handed Me a Locket and Whispered, ""This is Yours."" I Laughed. Then I Opened It. The Face Inside Was My Mother's—The Mother Who Died 30 Years Ago. That's When My Million-Dollar Life Began to Burn. November in Chicago. The wind off the lake doesn't just bite; it tears. I was pure Chicago—cold, fast, and untouchable. My name is Daniel Roads, and my name meant something. It meant towers. It meant deals. It meant the entire downtown skyline bent to my will. People called