Set back from the road behind a long row of tall, thin hedges, the house was a huge gray stone construction spread out over what could’ve easily been an entire city block. I double-checked the address on the unadorned black mailbox at the end of the driveway. I’d congratulated myself on finding the house so quickly after leaving the SEPTA station, but now that I saw the meandering driveway, I was pretty sure I’d made a mistake. When Spencer told me her father lived in the affluent neighborhood a couple miles from Balanova’s campus, I’d imagined a less gaudy version of Pop Sheedy’s house back home, but the word “large” hardly seemed to capture this monster. The area was home to some of Philadelphia’s wealthiest families, but this place put most of its neighbors to shame. I confirmed the address a final time, then started up the drive. Once the house was in full view, I couldn’t stop from blowing out a low whistle. Tommy Costello had money—and way more than the five hundred large he’d stolen from my clan.
