I made a cup of black coffee and drank it standing by the window.

By seven, I was back in my SUV, driving toward Westlake Hills.

I wanted to see the excavation crew start their work.

As I turned onto the gravel road, I saw the yellow lights of two massive flatbed trucks.

They were parked on the shoulder, their engines idling with a low, diesel rumble.

Nathan Cole was already there, standing beside his white pickup truck.

He held a clipboard and a large thermos of coffee.

I pulled up next to him and rolled down my window.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning, Alexandra,” he said, walking over. “The crew is ready. We’re just waiting on the permit clearance from the city, but we have the green light for the demolition of the slab.”

“Let’s get it done,” I said.

I parked my car under the shade of a live oak.

A large yellow excavator began to unload from the flatbed.

Its metal tracks clanked loudly against the steel ramps.

A jackhammer attachment was fitted to the arm of another machine.