"I don't know yet."
Marcus leaned back.
"Find out."
His attorney did.
Two days later, the answer arrived.
Daniel Voss was a former private security contractor.
He had worked for several government agencies.
He had also been investigated in a federal contracting matter three years earlier.
The investigation had ended without charges.
But his company had lost several contracts.
Marcus read the report.
Then he looked at the photographs of the HOA trucks.
Suddenly the equipment inside his garage looked different.
The radios.
The laptops.
The files.
The maps.
This wasn't simply an HOA security operation.
It looked like something much larger.
Then Marcus found something.
A small label on one of the laptops.
FEDERAL RECORDS INTERFACE.
He took a photograph.
He sent it to his attorney.
The attorney replied within minutes.
Don't touch that computer.
Marcus didn't.
Instead, he called the FBI.
Not 911.
Not local police.
The FBI tip line.
He described what he had seen.
The agent who answered asked several questions.
"What property are the vehicles located on?"
"My property."
"Do you have legal ownership?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Have you entered the structure?"
"No."
"Do you have photographs?"
"Yes."
"Can you provide them?"
"Yes."
"Do not alter or move anything."
Marcus looked through the garage window.
"Understood."
The agent gave him a reference number.
Then nothing happened.
For two days.
Marcus wondered whether he had overreacted.
Then the trucks disappeared.
He came home one evening.
The garage was empty.
The files were gone.
The tables were gone.
The laptops were gone.
The vehicles were gone.
But something remained.
A single folder.
Placed deliberately on the center table.
Marcus stared at it through the window.
The label said:
REED, MARCUS.
He didn't open it.
He called his attorney.
Then the police.
Then the FBI reference number.
The next morning, an FBI agent contacted him.
"We'd like to meet."
That meeting changed everything.
The agent was named Daniel Mercer.
He was calm.
Professional.
He asked Marcus to tell the story from the beginning.
Marcus did.
He showed him the letters.
The photographs.
The garage footage.
The security logs.
The truck records.
The complaint folder.
Agent Mercer watched everything.
Then he asked:
"Do you know why they chose your garage?"
"No."
Mercer looked at him.
"Because they thought you wouldn't ask questions."
Marcus frowned.