You just need some rest.”

At midnight the mansion was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner outside the window.

I walked into the three-car garage in thick wool socks, carrying a short steel crowbar wrapped in a dark bath towel.

Inside, the cool air smelled of concrete dust and floor wax.

I went past Tiffany’s white sedan to the far back corner behind the metal storage shelves, where my old workbench was bolted to the floor.

I shifted three heavy plastic storage tubs full of rusty truck parts I’d hung on to from my independent driving days thirty years ago.