Marcus stared at the screen.
His first instinct was to call the man back.
Instead, he saved the call information, wrote down the exchange while he remembered it, and forwarded a short account to the attorney advising him about the security complaint.
Then he returned to the birthday preparations.
He didn't want the businessman occupying another minute of his daughter's day.
By noon, the backyard was filled with children.
Pink balloons floated above the picnic tables. A portable speaker played cheerful music at a moderate volume. Children decorated paper crowns beneath a canopy while adults arranged food along the patio.
His daughter raced across the grass holding a toy princess wand.
“Daddy! Look!”
Marcus turned.
She raised the wand toward him.
“I command you to become a frog!”
He clutched his chest dramatically.
“No! Anything but that!”
She giggled.
He crouched low and began hopping across the grass.
The children erupted in laughter.
His mother stood near the patio shaking her head.
“Thirty-nine years old, and this is what you've become.”
Marcus made an exaggerated frog noise.
His daughter laughed so hard she nearly lost her crown.
For one precious moment, everything was perfect.
The sun was warm.
His mother was smiling.
His daughter was happy.
And the backyard felt like the home he'd promised his wife he would preserve.
At twelve forty-five, a white American woman in a bright-pink blouse and blue jeans arrived carrying a wrapped birthday present.
She was a longtime family friend who had known Marcus's late wife through local charity work. Her career in law enforcement had taken her through several departments, and she had recently accepted the position of chief of police in the suburb.
She had been formally appointed only days earlier and had not yet personally met every patrol officer.
Marcus greeted her with a warm smile.
“You made it.”
She hugged him.
“I wouldn't miss her birthday.”
His daughter rushed toward her.
“Did you bring me something?”
The woman laughed.
“Maybe.”
The little girl stared at the brightly wrapped box.
“Is it a pony?”
Marcus groaned.
“Not this again.”
The woman smiled.
“Sorry, princess. No pony.”
His daughter considered that.
Then shrugged.