Marcus looked toward the patrol car blocking his driveway.
“The police car is a clue.”
The young man on the porch made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.
Adams heard it.
His face changed.
Marcus recognized that too.
Embarrassment.
Bad.
Embarrassment often becomes anger when somebody thinks authority should protect them from both.
Adams pointed toward the lawn.
“Step over there.”
Marcus remained still.
“Why?”
“I said step over there.”
“Am I being detained?”
Adams’s mouth tightened.
“What did you just ask me?”
“Am I being detained?”
“You people always watch a couple videos online and suddenly think you’re attorneys.”
Silence landed across the driveway.
Marcus’s expression changed.
Susan lowered her phone slightly.
One of the people on the porch whispered, “Jesus.”
Adams seemed to realize he had said more than he intended.
He immediately corrected.
“I mean everybody.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Sure.”
Adams pointed again.
“Move to the lawn.”
Marcus did.
Not because he believed the order was necessary.
Because he had spent most of his adult life teaching people the difference between surrendering pride and surrendering rights.
The first could sometimes keep you alive long enough to defend the second.
He walked five steps.
Stopped.
Kept both hands visible.
Adams followed.
“What were you doing inside the residence?”
“I told you. I live here.”
“Before you left.”
“Preparing for a meeting.”
“What kind of meeting?”
Marcus paused.
“Private.”
Adams laughed.
“You’re in no position to be difficult.”
“I’m not being difficult.”
“You refuse to explain what you’re doing at a house you claim belongs to you.”
Marcus looked directly at him.
“The ownership of the house is verifiable. What I’m discussing with guests inside is not relevant to whether I’m trespassing.”
Adams stepped closer.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That attitude.”
Marcus exhaled.
He could feel eyes from every direction now.
The problem with upscale suburbs was that privacy disappeared the second emergency lights appeared.
Garage doors opened.
Curtains moved.
Phones emerged.
Three houses down, a middle-aged man stood at the edge of his property pretending to inspect his mailbox.
Across the street, two teenagers filmed openly.
Marcus looked toward his front door.
Still closed.
He wondered why Robert had not come outside.
Then remembered.
The conference room.
Soundproof doors.
Presentation already started.
Most of the guests probably had no idea anything was happening.
The people on the porch were neighbors, not meeting participants.
Adams said, “How did you get inside?”
“With a key.”
“Where’s the key?”
Marcus pointed slowly toward his right pocket.
Adams’s hand snapped toward his holster.
“Don't reach.”
Marcus stopped immediately.
“You asked where the key was.”
“I didn't tell you to touch it.”
“I pointed.”
“Keep your hands away from your pockets.”
Marcus raised both hands again.
“Fine.”
Adams stared.
Marcus stared back.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Susan finally stepped off the porch.
“Officer?”
Adams turned sharply.
“Stay there.”
She stopped.
“I know him.”
Adams looked back toward Marcus.
Then Susan.
“How?”
“He lives here.”
Marcus almost smiled.
Adams did not.
“How do you know that?”