On the screen, I watched Brent turn back to his mother and sister.

He looked completely defeated, his shoulders slumping as he muttered something to them.

Karen started shrieking, pointing her finger at the contractor, but Brent grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

The front door slammed shut.

“They’re going to pack,” Molly said, leaning over my shoulder to watch the monitor.

“They don’t have a choice,” I said.

We watched the security feed for the next fifteen minutes.

Karen and Diane emerged first, dragging heavy designer suitcases down the stone steps.

They threw them into the back of Diane’s silver SUV with violent, jerky movements.

Brent came out last, carrying a leather duffel bag and a box of expensive cigars.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, turned toward the exterior security camera, and stared directly into the lens.

He raised his hand and pointed a finger at the camera, his lips moving in a curse.

Then he got into the passenger seat of Diane’s SUV.

Diane slammed the vehicle into reverse, backing down the driveway so fast she clipped one of the contractor’s orange traffic cones.