Now call me crazy, but where I come from that’s a whole box of red flags. I’m thinking, at best, this guy’s after a finder’s fee; at worst, we’re walking into some sketchy human trafficking plot. Surprisingly, the girls don’t seem to share my concerns. They’re more concerned about missing out on their social media and losing their precious photos. I mean, doesn’t everything live in the cloud these days? Surely, just getting a new phone and restoring data from the cloud would solve the issue.

But what fun would that story be? So, we’re minutes away from this mystery handover, and I’m mentally prepping for all sorts of scenarios. I’m on high alert, ready to memorize faces, details, my finger hovering over ‘999’ on my phone, and figuring out how to park for a quick escape.

We pull up to the place. It’s not exactly dodgy, but it’s no picnic spot either. They call the guy, he steps out of a house, hands over the phone, and that’s that. No drama, no fuss, not a word exchanged. The girls are happy, I’m puzzled, the meter is running. 

I drive them back, still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing. It’s one of those rides you just can’t quite make sense of. You draw your conclusions; I’m still scratching my head over it.