And drove toward Oakridge Lane.
By the time Brooks reached Oakridge Lane, the situation had become almost impossible to understand from the outside.
Several neighbors stood along the sidewalk.
Walter continued recording.
The open garage revealed the silver Lexus, the scattered groceries, and Naomi's elaborate metallic skirt draped against the front of the car.
Grant was pulling her toward his patrol vehicle.
Naomi's wrists remained cuffed.
Her shoulder hurt.
One of her earrings had come loose during the struggle, and she could feel the weight of the remaining earring against her neck.
She was trying to remain composed.
But the humiliation was becoming almost unbearable.
Not because strangers were watching a police chief handcuffed in a beautiful gown.
Because she'd spent her career insisting that people deserved fair treatment regardless of who they were.
Now she was being denied the most basic opportunity to establish her identity.
Grant stopped beside the Lexus.
"Move."
Naomi looked toward him.
"I'm moving as carefully as I can."
He tightened his grip.
"Then move faster."
She felt another sharp pull in her shoulder.
"Sergeant, stop pulling my arm."
He leaned toward her.
"You think you can keep telling me how to do my job?"
Naomi stared at him.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then answered quietly.
"I think you're making decisions without checking the facts."
Grant's face darkened.
He was about to respond when the black SUV stopped along the curb.
The driver's door opened.
And Adrian Brooks stepped out.
Brooks had known Naomi for almost eighteen years.
They first worked together during a complex fraud investigation when she was a detective and he was supervising another unit.
He admired her patience.
She admired his ability to remain calm when a room full of experienced investigators disagreed.
Over time, they developed a professional friendship built on mutual trust.
When Naomi became chief, she asked him to remain as deputy because she valued his institutional knowledge and willingness to challenge her privately.
Their relationship wasn't based on blind loyalty.
They argued about budgets.
Staffing.
Training.
And the pace of department reforms.
But Brooks respected her integrity.
And when he saw her bent against the Lexus in an elaborate evening gown, his first reaction wasn't political.
It was disbelief.
He knew exactly who she was.
He knew the house.
And he knew that the situation demanded immediate control.
"Sergeant Grant!"
Grant turned.
For a moment, his expression remained irritated.
Then he recognized the man walking toward him.
"Deputy Chief?"
Brooks didn't slow down.
"Step away from her."
Grant frowned.
"Sir, we've got a burglary suspect."
Brooks stopped several feet away.
"Have you verified her identification?"
Grant hesitated.