Palm trees, stretching their leaves over paved sidewalks, cast shaded relief from the relentless rays of the Miami sun. Indigo waves crashed onto the sandy beige beaches, stretching out for miles of straddled multi-colored umbrellas and hotel skyscrapers. Tourists were mesmerized by how effortlessly the paradise envelopes them, and abruptly pulled them from their realities. After the effects of the saltwater wore off, exploring the heart of the city is where tourists spot the exploitation and collision of cultures.

Walking down Washington Street on the South Bend strip was a tattoo shop tucked away from the commotion of tourists. An Italian tattoo manager named Maria (name changed for confidentiality) confided in my Italian companion about the fake marriage she was planning with an U.S. citizen.

She casually disclosed the price for her sham marriage: $10,000 to a man she never met. When asked if she feared discovery from U.S. Department of Immigration, she seemed very confident this arrangement would seem legit. After talking once over the phone with her future husband, they arranged her to purchase a dress and a cake for convincing photographs they would later show U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) as evidence deterring any beliefs of a fraudulent marriage. They opened a joint bank account and she put her name on his apartment, although she did not live with him.

We never asked her how she recruited an U.S. citizen to marry her, but Miami is notorious for Mafia-style businessman leading rings that recruit vulnerable U.S. citizens and immigrants with expired status. Owners of these rings hire recruiters to hang around bars and hunt down potential prospects, and earn a commission for those who agree to participate.

Think of a recruiter like the delivery boy. Immigrants pay up to $10,000 for the marriage. Out of that, $1,800 is paid for application and license fees, and a percentage is for leaders in the rings. The remainder is split between the citizen and the recruiter.

We left the tattoo shop stunned, with so many questions looming, but fearful that asking her to disclose more of her bizarre arrangement invited trouble for us. Were her and her accomplice part of this ring, targeted for their vulnerability and desperation? Could authorities really pinpoint how many sham marriages were happening right under their noses in Miami? The further I investigated personal testimonies and police reports, the sooner I realized how sophisticated and lucrative marriage operations worked.

Because of the estimated 12 million undocumented immigrants living in the United States, authorities do not have the will or the resources to push for stronger borders or arrest suspects for marriage fraud. The largest operation of its kind was "Operation Knot So Fast" in Miami-Dade County, which has the nation's most concentration of immigrants, where 84 people were indicted for participating in the marriage fraud heist disguised under the name All Kind Services, with phony marriages going for up to $15,000. Together, Eunice Lopez, boyfriend Rodneys Gonzalez and her Cuban-American family racked up 32 bigamy counts and were sentenced to 165 years in prison.

One of Lopez's victims was a young Cuban man instructed to meet her a week before their marriage in order to exchange application information with her social security number and receive an advanced payment of $4,000. They rushed through the courthouse legalities, leaned in for a quick peck on the lips and took photos with a disposable camera, next to a cream-colored, plastic wedding cake.

Feeling rather guilty and unsure of his decision, he tried her cellphone, but it was disconnected. When authorities reached him a few months later as a possible suspect for fraud, he learned she married as many as 16 other men within the past nine months. Authorities noticed the plastic wedding cake in the other couples' photos. The Cuban man plead guilty and awaits sentencing.

The All Kinds Services also cons U.S. citizens in desperate situations to sign their name and snap a few photos for the exchange of $1,500. Those in financial crisis or suffering from alcohol abuse, like Sirls, who was approached in a bar spending the last of his savings. He hardly remembers the woman he pecked on the lips or the name of the recruiter when the FBI hunted him down for questioning. Sirls turned himself in and awaits sentencing for fraud. His indictment states he "knowingly entered into a marriage for the purpose of evading provision(s) of immigration law." Ring leaders are victimizing U.S. citizens who are drunks and desperate for cash, or young mothers who believe they found real love, but later find themselves abandoned. All of whom are part of a messy, legal battle, angry and distraught, unsure how this will all play out.