“Then remain there.”
Helen folded her arms.
“I plan to.”
Marcus kept recording.
George was guided toward the curb.
He sat.
The concrete was warm through his work pants.
His van remained open behind him.
Packages stacked.
Clipboard hanging without its top sheet.
Secured compartment still strapped shut.
George stared at it.
The van looked wrong sitting there unfinished.
His entire working life was built around completion.
Scan.
Deliver.
Confirm.
Move.
Now the route had stopped in the middle of a suburban street because one man had decided George’s competence looked suspicious.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Then again.
“Officer,” George said.
Barlow was writing in a notepad.
“My dispatcher is calling.”
“It can wait.”
“She may be responding to the federal delivery delay.”
“It can wait.”
George’s phone stopped.
Twelve seconds later, Barlow’s radio sounded.
“Two-Seventeen.”
Barlow answered.
“Go.”
“Supervisor requests confirmation on subject identity. Meridian Courier dispatch has contacted communications.”
Barlow’s pen stopped.
“What do they want?”
“Dispatch says company supervisor reports employee is an authorized federal contract courier and requests you contact listed liaison number.”
Barlow stared at George.
George said nothing.
Barlow keyed the radio.
“Tell them investigation is ongoing.”
Another voice came across.
“Two-Seventeen, standby. We have incoming call from U.S. Attorney liaison regarding your location.”
Barlow’s shoulders dropped.
Only slightly.
George noticed.
Barlow turned away.
His department phone rang seconds later.
He answered.
“Officer Barlow.”
George watched.
At first Barlow’s posture remained firm.
Then his free hand moved to his hip.
Then away.
Then he stopped writing.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pause.
“No, it has not been opened.”
Pause.
“Still secured.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Longer pause.
“I understand.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he stood with his back to everyone.
Reeves walked closer.
“What is it?”
Barlow did not answer.
He turned toward George.
The arrogance had not disappeared.
But something had cracked beneath it.
He walked over.
Then did something he had not done once during the encounter.
He crouched so he was roughly at George’s eye level.
“That was the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
George waited.
“They confirmed the package.”
George said nothing.
“Federal warrant materials. Active prosecution. Chain-of-custody seal.”
George continued waiting.
“They also confirmed your clearance.”
“I told you.”
George’s voice was quiet.
No anger.
That made it land harder.
Barlow looked away.
“The federal liaison is sending representatives.”
“Why?”
“To take custody of the envelope and document the interruption.”
George checked his watch.
11:26.
“The delivery deadline is noon.”
“They know.”
“You can remove the cuffs now.”
Barlow looked at him.
George held his gaze.
Barlow stood.
“Reeves.”