"Get away from that Rolls-Royce right now before I have the police drag you off this street."
Darius Holloway slowly turned toward Lenora Vale, still standing in his own driveway. "Ma'am, that is my car. This is my house, and you need to leave my property."
"Your car? Please. You look more like someone hired to clean it than someone who owns it." Lenora pulled out her phone. "911, please send officers now. There's a man interfering with a car in this driveway, and I need help right away."
Two patrol officers hurried toward the driveway as Lenora pointed at Darius and demanded they put him in handcuffs. Darius stayed calm. Lenora had no idea her cruel 911 call was about to destroy everything she controlled.
The late afternoon sun caught the pearl-white finish of the Rolls-Royce as Darius balanced the final cardboard box against his hip and reached for his keys. Three days of driving back and forth from his apartment had finally emptied the storage unit. Tomorrow morning, he would walk into police headquarters as the new chief. Tonight, he just wanted to sit in his father's old kitchen and remember what home felt like.
The house looked smaller than it had thirty years ago. The paint was faded, and the front steps sagged slightly, but the mortgage was paid off and the deed had his name on it now. After decades of chasing promotions in other cities, Darius was back where he started. He shifted the box to get a better grip and heard footsteps pounding across the grass.
"Excuse me."
Darius turned toward the voice. A white woman in her fifties marched across the adjoining lawn, her expensive jewelry catching the sunlight. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight, and her face was red with anger.
"What are you doing with that car?" she demanded.
Darius set the box on the hood of the Rolls-Royce. "I'm sorry?"
"That car." She pointed at the vehicle as if it had personally offended her. "Why are you touching it?"
"Because it's mine."
The woman laughed, actually laughed. "That's a Rolls-Royce."
"I know what it is."
"Do you have any idea how much those cost?"
Darius kept his voice level. "About as much as I paid for it."
Her eyes narrowed. "I've lived in this neighborhood for fifteen years. I know everyone who lives here. I've never seen you before in my life."
"I just moved in."
"To whose house?"
"Mine." Darius picked up the box again. "This is private property. You need to leave."
The woman stepped closer instead. "I don't think so. I think you're stealing that car from whoever lives here."
"Ma'am, I'm asking you politely to get off my property."
"Your property?" Her voice rose to a near shriek. "You just showed up today. Nobody sells a house without the neighborhood association knowing about it."
Darius felt something familiar settle in his chest. Thirty years of dealing with difficult people had taught him to recognize when reason would not work. This woman had already decided who he was and what he was doing. Nothing he said would change her mind.
"The car belongs to me," he said quietly. "The house belongs to me. You need to leave now."
"I don't believe you." The woman pulled out her phone and stepped back toward the street. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.