My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
I had a mug of black tea between my hands, the heat of the ceramic warming my palms through my gloves.
A sharp click came from the phone.
The screen lit up, casting a pale blue glow across my face.
The motion sensor on camera one had triggered. A small yellow warning box was flashing in the upper right corner of the display.
I leaned forward, my tea forgotten on the bench beside me.
Two yellow headlights appeared at the far edge of the screen, coming down the county road from the east. The vehicle was moving slowly, its high beams cut off, running only on its amber fog lights.
The vehicle turned off the main road and stopped thirty feet from my gate.
Through the gray static of the night vision feed, I recognized the shape of my father’s white sedan.
Behind it, a second set of headlights appeared, then a third.
A dark utility van pulled up close behind the sedan, its side panels unmarked.
