Jack nodded. “Okay, he’s got it down pat. I think we’re good to go. I am a little surprised that Santiago hasn’t been in touch. Anyone have any thoughts on that?”

“Not on that, but I do have a question. What happens to all my money?” Meadows asked.

That’s when Maggie Spritzer lost it. She was like a wild woman as she attacked Zack Meadows before the men could figure out what happened. “What happens to your money? What happens to your money? Is that what you asked?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She started swinging wildly, popping Meadows on the nose, the chin, and the side of his head. Then, just to be even more ornery, she brought her knee up and made contact with the family jewels. Meadows doubled over, tears rolling down his cheeks. For good measure, Maggie kicked him and continued kicking him till Ted pulled her away, still screaming about where all his money was going to go.

Charles decided it was time to intervene. He blew his whistle, and everyone froze. “Enough already. It’s time to leave. You all know what you have to do. Do not, I repeat, do not make me blow this whistle again. On your feet, Meadows, and no one is going to help you. Crawl if you have to, but move now.”

* * *

When they arrived at Lizzie’s, Jack looked down at his watch—8:50. Everyone was in place behind him in single file. The key was in the basement lock and turned. All he had to do was turn the knob and the door would open. Charles and Fergus were deep in the shrubbery on the right side of Lizzie’s front door. Zack Meadows, according to Charles’s last text, was at the end of the driveway, standing behind a thick wooden post that was as dark as the night around him. He was bent over in pain, the money bag at his feet. He waited for the birdcall from the bushes, his signal to walk up the driveway to ring the bell. At that same moment, Jack would open the basement door, and he and his posse would enter the house and make their way up the back steps leading to the kitchen.

Cyrus inched closer to Jack, his massive body quivering with excitement. This was what he lived for, what he’d been trained to do. He felt his master’s hand on his head and rubbed against it to show he was in control. If he could talk, he would have shouted to the housetops.

“Now!” Jack hissed, as the word went down the line. They were inside and lined up on the stairs leading to the kitchen, where he could hear all hell breaking loose, with Meadows talking the loudest to be heard over the snarling voices demanding that the money be counted.