"Who exactly are you looking for?" Angela demanded, finding her voice. "What's the name of this supposed fugitive?"
Holt's face tightened. He stepped closer, invading her personal space. "You know exactly who we're after, Mrs. Brooks. Don't play innocent."
"No, I don't know," Angela shot back. "Because there is no fugitive, is there? This is something else entirely."
A vein pulsed in Holt's temple. "Watch your mouth. You're already facing charges for obstruction and resisting arrest."
"Resisting what arrest? You never even told me I was under arrest. You never read me my rights."
More shouts came from inside the house, along with the sound of her mattress being flipped off the bed frame. Books were swept from shelves. Photo albums were dumped onto the floor.
Through her phone's speaker, she could hear Marcus talking rapidly to someone. "Yes, sir. My wife is being physically detained while officers conduct an illegal search. I need immediate intervention. Yes, sir, I understand. I'm booking a flight now."
Griggs yanked Angela's arms higher behind her back, making her gasp. "Your husband better hurry home. Might not have much of a house left to come back to."
The neighbors' angry shouts grew louder. Angela saw Mr. Wilson trying to push past the police line, his teenage sons holding him back. Mrs. Martinez was crying, clutching her phone as she recorded everything. The Thompson children huddled behind their parents, eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"Nothing in the basement," an officer reported, emerging from the house. His boots tracked mud across Angela's welcome mat. "No sign of forced entry or hiding spots."
"Keep looking," Holt snapped. "Every inch of this property gets searched. Pull up the floorboards if you have to."
Angela's legs threatened to buckle. The handcuffs bit deeper into her wrists with every small movement. Her shoulders burned from the unnatural position, but she refused to show weakness in front of Holt.
"This is illegal," she stated clearly, making sure her voice carried to all the recording phones. "You have no warrant, no probable cause, and no evidence of any fugitive. You're violating multiple federal laws by forcibly entering a protected military residence."
"Shut her up," Holt ordered.
Griggs started dragging Angela toward a police cruiser. She planted her feet, forcing him to physically lift her. As they struggled, Angela noticed something strange. Several officers had stopped what they were doing, their attention drawn to Mrs. Carter's house next door.
Following their gaze, Angela saw the setting sun reflecting off Mrs. Carter's windows. The small, well-maintained home stood in stark contrast to the chaos unfolding in Angela's yard. Officers kept glancing between Captain Holt and Mrs. Carter's property with uncertain expressions.
Mrs. Carter herself still stood on her porch steps, hands clasped tightly together. Her face was a mask of worry as she watched Angela being manhandled by police. But there was something else in the elderly woman's expression, a deep, weary knowledge that made Angela's suspicions crystallize.
The pieces clicked together as Angela remembered the months of whispers about aggressive real-estate agents pressuring people to sell. Mrs. Carter had mentioned receiving daily calls about her property, each offer more insistent than the last.
"This isn't about any fugitive," Angela said loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "This is about Mrs. Carter's house, isn't it, Captain?"
Holt's expression darkened. He strode over and grabbed Angela's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "I said shut up."
"The development company wants this whole block," Angela continued, ignoring the pain. "But Mrs. Carter won't sell. So now you're trying to scare everyone into leaving."