"Slide the warrant where we can read it," Marcus called. "We're not refusing to comply, but we need to know what the court authorized."
A folded document appeared at the edge of the doorway. Diana had advised them that a warrant required separate legal analysis and that physical confrontation would put everyone at risk. Marcus opened the door slowly, took the paper, and scanned the address, date, and judge's signature, then stepped aside rather than block the officers. Angela read the stated grounds over his shoulder: information alleging illegal weapons trafficking and concealment of firearms in the residence.
The accusation was almost absurd enough to make her laugh. She had once used weapons in military service and had treated people injured by them, but there was no trafficking operation in the home where she kept medical textbooks and old service photographs. Marcus was still reading the scope of the warrant when Griggs pushed past him with an impatient shoulder. Holt announced that every room would be searched and ordered the couple to remain in the living room.
"We will comply with lawful instructions," Marcus said. "We're recording, and our attorney is being notified."
"Go ahead," Holt replied. "File another complaint. You people seem to enjoy paperwork."
The officers spread through the house. A legitimate search warrant did not authorize arbitrary destruction, but the distinction seemed irrelevant to the way Griggs worked. He pulled drawers out far enough for their contents to spill, overturned a storage bin beside the bookshelves, and pushed a framed photograph onto the floor rather than move it to one side. Angela watched the glass crack across the faces of two friends who had died years apart and felt a sharp rush of anger that frightened her with its force.
She heard cabinets banging in the kitchen, footsteps overhead, and the muffled protests of a young officer telling someone to slow down before breaking the pantry door. Marcus kept narrating the visible sequence on his phone without moving between officers and the places they claimed to be searching. Angela stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched when the sound of breaking glass made her flinch. The phone in her hand shook, but she did not put it down.
Griggs moved toward the display case that held Angela's military decorations. The glass cabinet had been Marcus's gift after her retirement, built by a local carpenter with a cedar base and lighting soft enough to make the old photographs look less clinical. It contained ribbons, certificates, a distinguished service commendation, and a pair of small medical shears she had carried during one deployment. Those objects were not expensive, but they represented faces and moments Angela had spent years learning to remember without drowning in them.
"Please be careful with those," she said. "There are glass panels, and the documents are fragile."