I opened my laptop on the table and turned the screen toward my uncle.
“The utility company records show no outage on that block during those forty-eight hours,” I said.
I pressed the play button on the video file that Maya had uploaded.
The screen showed the blue-tinted feed from our living room security camera, dated December thirtieth.
On the screen, Mark was carrying our baby’s prescription formula and two coolers of food out the front door, while my sister Chloe twisted her silver necklace near the hallway mirror.
“They took everything, Robert,” I said.
Uncle Robert watched the screen, his mouth opening slightly as Mark laughed on the silent footage, hoisting a bag of groceries over his shoulder.
“This was just a misunderstanding about what needed to be cleared out before the winter freeze,” my mother said.
“They went to Miami,” I said. “On fourteen thousand dollars that was wired specifically for Maya’s post-operative medical care.”
