Jacob Diaz

Guzman had recently escaped from a maximum security prison with the assistance of his cousin, Arturo Beltranleva, whom, like Guzman, had grown up dirt poor in Badiraguato, Sinaloa.

The five kingpins met as a council of war to discuss a problem they all shared, the rise of the Gulf cartel.

Jacob Diaz was born on Valentine's Day, 1986, in Reading, Pennsylvania.

His mother told her son his father was in prison for murder, a robbery that went wrong.

However, Diaz's uncle confessed to his nephew that his father was never incarcerated.

In fact, Diaz's father was living in Pennsylvania and asked about his son constantly.

Regardless, at our first interview, Diaz tells me, I could care less about meeting him.

Based on the things he'd heard growing up, his father is an alcoholic lowlife that abandoned me.

When Diaz was five, his mother packed up him and his younger brother, his older brother and his older sister, and relocated the family to Ocala in central Florida.

The family moved in with Diaz's maternal uncle who lived in a single wide trailer located in a trailer park known as Little Mexico.

Extreme poverty is how I'd describe it, he admits.

The park was a massive grid of manufactured housing.

It was row after row of single and double-wide trailers filled with undocumented laborers, prostitutes, and drug dealers.

It was no place to raise kids.

Diaz climbed through the window of the teacher's lounge of Oak Crest Elementary shortly after 10 p.m.

He was 13 years old.

The school had held a fundraiser earlier in the day, and Diaz, along with two of his friends, were certain the money was still on the premises.

Since the age of nine, Diaz had been shoplifting and breaking into houses.

He'd been on house arrest and spent three days in a program for juvenile offenders, Project Challenge.

While Jacob and his friends were rifling through drawers and closets, Ocala police officers entered the school.