"On what date did Stonebridge Ridge purchase the warehouse?"
She stared at him.
"Deed number?" he asked.
No answer.
"Transfer filing?"
Her mouth tightened.
"Foreclosure order?"
"You know perfectly well this is an enforcement action based on liens and easement rights."
"Then give me the case number."
"Stop playing procedural games."
Duncan leaned back as far as the chair allowed. "The procedure is the part you forgot."
For the first time, the younger security guard looked directly at Marissa rather than Duncan. His name, according to the small patch on his jacket, was Evan Cole. He had not touched Duncan during the restraint beyond helping control one arm, and now his discomfort was becoming difficult to hide.
"Ms. Crowley," Evan said quietly, "do we have the actual court paperwork here?"
Marissa turned on him. "The paperwork is being finalized."
Evan's brow furrowed. "Being finalized?"
"Do not start second-guessing this now. We have already taken possession."
"That is kind of what I am asking about."
"Your job is security, not legal analysis."
Duncan listened without interrupting. Memory, he had learned, was unreliable under stress when treated casually. So he fixed details deliberately: Evan's wording, Marissa's response, where each person stood, the clock on the loading bay wall reading 3:41, the position of the discarded drill near the brick where the new sign had been mounted. Later, if needed, he would write everything down in order.
Trent, irritated by the conversation, decided to search him. "Make sure he does not have another phone," Marissa said.
"You do not have my consent to search me," Duncan said.
Trent smiled. "You are being detained for trespassing."
"By a private contractor on property I own."
"Still talking."
Trent patted down Duncan's jacket pockets, removed his wallet, car keys, and a folded receipt, then reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a slim brown leather credential case.
Duncan's eyes moved to it immediately. "Put that down."