They checked my shoulder, asked about the blows, and recommended further assessment because of my age and the force of the impact. I agreed, although I was reluctant to leave the house before understanding what had happened to the people involved.
The female agent approached while I was sitting beside the porch railing.
"We've preserved the recordings," she said.
I nodded.
"Good."
She studied me.
"I'm sorry we couldn't prevent the first contact."
I looked toward the driveway.
"I know you intervened when the threat became clear."
She nodded.
"We were monitoring the approach, but the assault happened quickly."
I took a breath.
"I didn't expect him to swing."
"Neither did we."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then I looked toward the counterfeit uniforms.
"Those men aren't licensed police."
"No."
I nodded slowly.
"I figured."
She gave me a faint smile.
"I suspected you might."
I leaned back.
"Are they connected to the other associations?"
She hesitated.
"The investigation is broader than what happened here today."
I nodded.
"I understand."
Then she added, "The records we've already obtained suggest a coordinated operation involving multiple communities and substantial fraudulent payments."
I looked toward the street.
Several neighbors had gathered at a distance.
Some held phones.
Others stood silently, watching the scene with expressions of disbelief.
The elderly postal worker who'd shown me his payment receipt was standing near the sidewalk, one arm around his wife.
When our eyes met, he looked away.
I knew what he was thinking.
The men who had frightened him into paying thousands of dollars were now being held beside real law-enforcement vehicles.
But the relief on his face was mixed with something else.
Shame.
I wanted to tell him that he had nothing to be ashamed of.
That criminals often succeeded because they understood how to imitate authority.
That honest people shouldn't have to become experts in detecting fraud merely to protect their retirement savings.
But the medical personnel were preparing to take me for further evaluation.
So I lifted one hand.
He nodded.
And I knew we'd talk later.
My daughter arrived at the medical center before I'd finished being examined.
She came through the door with her coat still half-buttoned, her phone in one hand and the kind of frightened expression I hadn't seen since her mother's final hospitalization.
"Dad!"