“Are you going to be there when they get to the house?” Molly asked.

“No,” I said. “But I want to see it.”

I opened a separate window on my laptop, displaying the live feed from the camera mounted on the garage across the street.

The neighbor, a friendly retired doctor named Arthur, had agreed to let me keep my remote access to his exterior security camera for a few days.

It gave a perfect, wide-angle view of my former front yard.

At exactly 4:15 PM, a yellow airport taxi turned onto Redwood Crest Drive.

The taxi slowed down as it approached the property, its brake lights glowing red in the gathering dusk.

It pulled up to the curb, right behind the contractor’s dumpster.

The passenger door opened, and Brent stepped out.

He was wearing a light linen shirt and sunglasses, completely unprepared for the forty-degree Colorado wind.

He took off his sunglasses, his head jerking back as he looked at the front of the house.

Diane and Karen got out of the other side of the cab, their faces frozen in absolute shock.