Amy opened the door, dressed in black, mascara smudged at the corners of her reddened eyes. “You killed my son” was her only greeting.

Matty did the honors. “Ma’am, we have a warrant to search your house.”

Her cheeks turned red with anger as he handed her the search warrant. “Haven’t you done enough?” she hissed.

“I’d like you to step outside while we search, or if you prefer to remain inside, I can come in and sit with you—”

Rage lit fires in Amy Spencer’s eyes. “I’m gonna sue you for killing my boy.”

“Inside or out, ma’am?” Matty said.

Amy turned and walked into her sitting room, lying down on the chaise without saying a word. Matty took a seat in one of the Queen Anne chairs to watch her.

Niki and Bug began their search on the outside of the house, Bug carrying a flashlight, expecting to spend time in either a crawlspace or an attic. He located the junction box where the internet cable connected to the house, which led them to a utility room in the basement. Behind a hinged panel Bug found a splitter.

“See this?” he said. “You normally have a single cable going from here up to a router, but there’s a second cable going somewhere.”

The utility room had a dropped ceiling, so Bug climbed atop a washing machine, lifted the tile, and shined the flashlight along the joist. Niki could hear him mumbling to himself but couldn’t make out the words. When he jumped down, he walked upstairs without saying a word. He found the router, paused to consider something, then, like a coonhound on a scent, he followed something invisible into the garage.

The space was large and clean—white walls, epoxied floors—and it held three cars: a Jaguar sedan, a vintage Corvette convertible, and a white Porsche SUV. Above the Porsche, a scuttle hole led to an attic.

Bug grabbed a ladder that hung on the wall and set it up below the scuttle hole. “Not a very sensible place to have a computer,” he said as he climbed.

“Unless you wanted to keep it hidden,” Niki said.

He shined his light around the attic. “Is there a pry bar down there?”

Niki found a crowbar and handed it up to Bug. He took it and crawled into the darkness.

As she waited, Niki leaned against the Porsche, a beautiful automobile, sleek and compact, more expensive than anything Niki would ever be able to afford. She glanced down at the driver’s-side window, her curiosity pulled by the red leather interior, and something caught her eye.

Above her, Niki could hear the screech of floorboards being pried up, but her attention remained on the door of the Porsche. The rubber seal at the bottom of the window had a tiny smear of something dark, a patch about the size of Niki’s thumbnail.

“There’s a server up here,” Bug yelled from the attic. “Fully functional. They hid it below the floorboards.”