An elderly man was watering roses.

A sprinkler clicked rhythmically across a lawn.

“Do I match the description of a suspect?”

Mercer stared at her.

“You're standing outside a house that isn't yours.”

“That's legal.”

“You're getting smart with me.”

“No.”

Vanessa's voice remained calm.

“I'm being precise.”

Something changed in Mercer's face.

He stepped closer.

“Around here, when law enforcement asks who you are, you answer.”

Vanessa looked at him.

“Around here?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes.”

She paused.

“That phrase appears in several complaints about your department.”

For the first time, Mercer looked genuinely unsettled.

“What did you say?”

Vanessa repeated it.

“Several residents said deputies told them, ‘Around here, you answer when we ask.’”

One of the deputies shifted uneasily.

Mercer noticed.

Then he looked back at Vanessa.

“Who the hell are you?”

Vanessa almost told him.

Instead, she asked:

“Why does that suddenly matter?”

Mercer reached for her arm.

Vanessa stepped backward.

“Don't touch me.”

His hand closed around her wrist.

The movement was quick.

Unnecessary.

Deliberate.

Vanessa's posture changed instantly.

“Release me.”

Mercer grabbed her other wrist.

One of the deputies looked alarmed.

“Sheriff…”

“Stay back.”

Vanessa didn't fight him.

She planted both feet firmly on the pavement.

“Let me go.”

Mercer leaned closer.

“I decide what basis I need.”

Vanessa looked down at his hands.

Then directly into his eyes.

“Enjoy your last minute of power, Sheriff.”

Mercer froze.

“What?”

Vanessa didn't blink.

“You heard me.”

Then came the sound of engines.

Several engines.

The SUVs

Four black SUVs turned onto Willow Street.

They moved slowly and stopped behind the sheriff's cruisers.

Doors opened almost simultaneously.

Men and women in dark business suits stepped out.

One carried a state evidence case.

Another wore a badge clipped visibly to his belt.

A third began photographing the scene.

Mercer released one of Vanessa's wrists.

“What is this?”

Vanessa looked at his remaining hand.

“Both.”

He released her.

A tall Black man in a charcoal suit walked toward them.

“Director Cole?”

Vanessa turned.

“Marcus.”

Marcus Hale was her second-in-command at the Georgia Office of Civil Rights Compliance.

He looked at Vanessa's wrists.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

She rubbed one wrist.

“Preserve every camera.”

The street went silent.

Mercer stared at her.

“Director?”

Marcus ignored him.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes.”

Mercer looked from Marcus to Vanessa.

Then toward the SUVs.

“State investigators?”

“Yes,” Marcus replied.

Mercer slowly turned back toward Vanessa.

“You're with the state?”

Vanessa reached into her tote and removed a black credential wallet.

She opened it.

Official seal.

Photograph.

Title.

Director, Georgia Office of Civil Rights Compliance.

Mercer stared.

Vanessa closed the wallet.

“You asked who I was.”

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

“I was going to tell you after speaking with Mrs. Daniels.”

She pointed toward the house.

“Instead, you demonstrated one of the allegations before I could interview my first witness.”

Mercer's face reddened.

“This is being taken out of context.”

Marcus looked toward the deputies.

“Body cameras.”

One deputy touched his chest.

“Mine is recording.”

Mercer spun toward him.

“Turn it off.”

Vanessa's voice cut across the street.

“Don't.”

The deputy froze.

Marcus stepped forward.

“State preservation order. No deletion, deactivation, or modification.”