"You know what?" Grant said. "I'll tell you what. Move it around the corner for me, and I'll make it worth your while. Think of it as earning a little extra tonight."
He extended the key fob. It was a small piece of polished metal, harmless in itself, but the way Grant offered it made the gesture feel like an assignment rather than a favor. Adrian looked at the key, then at the people standing behind it. A man near the railing gave a brief laugh, and another lowered his eyes, apparently uncomfortable enough to notice what was being implied but not uncomfortable enough to say anything.
"No, thank you," Adrian said. "It's your car. Please move it."
"You're being difficult for no reason," Grant replied. "I'm offering to pay you. Most people would appreciate the opportunity."
"I don't need payment to move a car I didn't park," Adrian said. "I need access to my driveway."
Grant's gaze tightened, and the smile on his mouth stayed in place a fraction longer than the rest of his expression. He had met men who argued over money and men who argued about respect, and he usually knew which tool to use on each. Adrian was refusing to make the conversation about either subject. He had introduced a practical problem and insisted that it remain practical, which deprived Grant of the performance he expected.
At the doorway, Serena appeared in a pale blouse and tailored trousers, one hand resting lightly on the frame. She had been inside speaking with a guest when the conversation outside changed tone. From where she stood, she could see the key fob in Grant's hand and Adrian's stillness at the base of the steps. She could not see Adrian's blocked driveway without moving farther out, but she seemed in no hurry to check.
"Everything all right?" she asked.
"This gentleman has a concern about parking," Grant said. He made concern sound like a temporary weakness that somebody had chosen to indulge. "I offered to let him move the car, but apparently that isn't satisfactory."
Serena looked at Adrian. "Do you live nearby?"
"Across the street," he answered. "The black sports car is across my driveway."
"Which house?" she asked.
"7316. The brick house at the western end."
Serena's expression changed in a way that might have gone unnoticed by anyone less accustomed to reading faces. She had registered the new occupant in the neighborhood, but she had not introduced herself to him. Perhaps she had expected him to come to the Vosses' home first, or perhaps she had simply not imagined that the man before her was the person whose moving truck she had seen the previous week. Instead of acknowledging the information, she looked toward Grant for his response.
Colin Rusk stood near the threshold with his arms loosely at his sides. He wore a plain dark jacket without any company markings and observed the exchange with the detached focus of a man who treated a gathering as both a social event and a security assignment. When Grant stepped toward Adrian, Colin shifted his weight a fraction and moved closer to the stairs. He made no physical threat, but his repositioning narrowed the space available to the newcomer and emphasized which person Colin expected to support.