The stereo coughed another rustle: zippers, papers shuffling, almost a voice cut short. His aunt clutched her jewelry boxes to her chest. “For safety,” she insisted. Her uncle rolled his eyes, though he followed her lead, pocketing one of Marco’s watches. Fear made thieves of them both, scrambling to protect what wasn’t theirs.
They retreated upstairs, finally, muttering excuses. “Tomorrow we’ll sort deeds. Tomorrow, lawyers will explain everything.” She locked the bedroom door, double-checked it thrice. He set the golf club against the dresser like a bayonet. In bed, they whispered, breaths shallow. Below, Marco prepared Act Two.