The records didn't just concern one afternoon.
They concerned a pattern.
And patterns could harm people long before a dramatic video finally made the public look.
Evelyn Price refused to leave Hawthorne Avenue.
Marcus suggested staying with him for a few weeks while the investigation continued.
She shook her head.
“No.”
He frowned.
“Mom, you've had strangers driving past the house taking photographs.”
“I know.”
“Alan has been calling people about the property.”
“I know.”
“And the developer's letters are still coming.”
She looked toward him.
“Then let them come.”
Marcus sighed.
“Mom.”
She put down her gardening gloves.
“Marcus, look at me.”
He did.
She pointed toward the house.
“Your father and I paid for this home. We worked. We saved. We made sacrifices.”
Marcus nodded.
She continued.
“I will not leave because somebody decided my address would look better under a luxury development sign.”
He took a breath.
“I just want you safe.”
Her expression softened.
“I know.”
For a moment, she seemed emotional.
Then she stepped closer.
“But protecting me doesn't mean packing me up and moving me out of the life I've built.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
He knew she was right.
Still, the thought of Alan's deliberate pressure made him furious.
Evelyn touched his arm.
“Baby, your father used to tell me something whenever I worried too much.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“What?”
She laughed softly.
“He said, 'Evelyn, a garden grows where the roots are.'”
Marcus looked toward the tomato plants.
His mother continued.
“I know I could live somewhere else. I know this isn't the only house in the world.”
She paused.
“But I want the choice to be mine.”
Marcus nodded.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he asked.
“What do you want me to do?”
She smiled.
“Fix the railing you started.”
He laughed.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward the porch.
“That officer interrupted you before you finished.”
Marcus looked toward the loose wooden bracket.
The screwdriver still rested in a small toolbox near the steps.
For a moment, the memory returned.
The shove.
The officer's hand on his arm.
The sound of his mother's scream.