“I can’t believe it. He’s got the money.” The man’s voice is incredulous. He hoists himself off the recliner, grinning down from behind the mask. “That worthless piece of shit husband of yours has actually got the money. He actually did the impossible.”

I press my lips together and say nothing. Not so worthless now, is he?

Outside the playroom windows, darkness is falling fast thanks to the thick cloud cover. Automatically, my gaze wanders to the clock on a far shelf, a fussy mantel model that looks out of place with the rest of the mid-century decor, its hands permanently stuck on ten past five. A tiny eye embedded in the base of the hour hand watches our every move.

I don’t dare glance at the other two cameras, a wall speaker with a sweeping view of the couch, and the dummy fire alarm above my head. Between the three of them, every inch of this room is covered by top-of-the-line, high-definition cameras with motion sensors and enhanced night vision, every movement and sound recorded and stored on the cloud for thirty days.

Whatever happens in this room, there will be proof. Indisputable, undeniable evidence. Three digital witnesses documenting every move.

He slides my phone back into his pocket and exchanges it for the Android, tapping a finger to the screen, pressing it to his ear. “You’re not going to believe this but—” A pause, and his grin widens. “See? I told you this was going to work. You thought I was wrong but we actually pulled it off. Dammit, we’re good.”

The same person he was talking to downstairs, I’m guessing. The coconspirator from the kitchen, the one checking the levels. Distracting enough for me to check in with my daughter.

I shift to the recliners, perching at the edge of the seat next to Beatrix. “You okay?”

She shakes her head. “How much longer? I really don’t like this.”

On the other side of the coffee table, the man’s phone call continues. “How are the numbers?”

“I know, baby.” I wrap a hand around the back of her head, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Thanks for being my bravest girl. You’re the cleverest, most determined kid I know.”

Beatrix frowns. “What about Baxter?” My daughter is not the only person she holds to high standards. She’s always demanded perfection from everyone else, too, the responsible firstborn, the big sister taking up for her younger brother. She’s a kid who takes her job very seriously.

“He’s the sweetest and funniest. Of all the babies in the world, I got the two of you, and that makes me the luckiest, proudest mom ever.”

I’m fighting tears I hide with a nuzzle to Beatrix’s shoulder, looking up as the man says, “Shouldn’t be long now. Any chatter on the scanner?”