They toasted to their new fortune, oblivious to the headlights sweeping across the front window as a squad car pulled into the driveway.

Ten minutes later, a loud, mechanical drilling sound erupted from the front door. It was the high-pitched whine of hardened steel biting into brass.

Kevin jumped up, spilling his scotch onto the rug. “What the hell?”

“Is she trying to break in?” Jessica shrieked, dropping her paint swatches. “Call the police!”

“I’ll handle this,” Kevin growled. He marched to the door, his face flushed with alcohol and indignation, ready to physically intimidate his seventy-year-old mother. “I told her to leave! She’s trespassing!”

He grabbed the handle, but before he could turn the deadbolt, the lock cylinder popped out and fell to the floor with a metallic clang. The door swung open.

It wasn’t just Martha.