A steady, cold drizzle that slicked the asphalt and blurred the headlights of the oncoming trucks.

The weather was in my favor.

Rain dampened sound and reduced visibility for the guards.

I parked my rental car half a mile away from the Prescott estate in a residential neighborhood.

I walked through the woods bordering the back of the property.

The wet pine needles cushioned my steps.

I reached the stone wall.

It looked higher in the dark than it did in the photos.

I stood in the shadow of a large oak tree, listening.

The wind rustled the leaves above me.

Farther down the wall, a security camera turned on its mount, its small red light blinking.

I timed the rotation.

Twelve seconds of dead space before it swept back.

I threw my jacket over the sharp iron spikes at the top of the wall.

I grabbed the stone ledge, pulled myself up, and rolled over the top.

I dropped into the soft mulch of the garden bed on the other side.

I lay still for a moment, listening for an alarm.

Nothing.