I pressed the intercom button. “Vance?”

“Yes,” a voice crackled back.

I unlocked the door and stood in the hallway, waiting.

Vance was a short man in his late forties, wearing a faded canvas jacket and carrying a heavy black backpack.

He had thin graying hair and sharp, tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

He didn’t offer a hand to shake.

“Where is the workspace?” he asked, stepping inside.

“The dining table,” I said, pointing toward the small alcove.

He nodded, walked over, and set his backpack down on the wood.

He pulled out a heavy laptop, several thick cables, and a small metal drive.

“Black, no sugar,” he said, looking at the coffee pot.

I poured him a mug and set it down next to his computer.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, give me the details of the account.”

I pulled up my laptop and opened the old family account dashboard.

“The camera is an Arlo Smart System,” I said. “It’s installed in Patricia’s kitchen, looking toward the hallway.”

“Is the device currently active?” Vance asked, his fingers already hovering over his keyboard.