The older officer approached with his hands positioned close to his equipment belt. He had a square face, a weathered jaw, and the tense, economical stride of a man accustomed to expecting obedience. His nameplate read TURNER. The younger officer, Aaron Cole, remained near the cruiser for a few seconds and took in the open house, the moving truck, the boxes, and the woman talking before anyone had asked her for an account.
"Sir, take your hand out of your pocket," Officer Michael Turner said.
David brought both hands forward at once. "Yes, Officer. They are empty."
"Step away from the Ferrari."
David moved sideways three measured paces, keeping his hands where they could be seen. Clare nodded almost imperceptibly, as though the order vindicated her entire position. Turner stopped in front of David, blocking his view of the front steps, and asked his name without introducing himself. David answered anyway.
"David Brooks. The house is mine and so is the car. My identification is in my back pocket. May I reach for it?"
"Slowly. No sudden movements."
David removed his wallet between two fingers and presented his driver's license. Turner examined it, then glanced at the Ferrari again. The license still showed David's former address in East Charlotte, a detail David had not yet had time to update during a week filled with moving arrangements and utility transfers.
"Address doesn't match this house," Turner said.
"I closed on the property twelve days ago. The records are public, and I have the closing packet inside."
"You're not going inside."
"I wasn't going to without telling you. I was explaining where the papers are."
"Let's not get difficult."
David felt the shift immediately. A question had become an obstacle, his answer had become an argument, and his willingness to produce proof had somehow made him less cooperative. In a different life, with a different uniform and a different person on the other side, he had learned to recognize the moment a conversation stopped being a conversation and became a test of whether he would lower his head. He kept his voice steady because the waiting cameras would not record how carefully he was choosing his words.
"I'm not trying to be difficult," he said. "I'm trying to make this as straightforward as possible."
Clare moved closer to Turner. "I told dispatch the man has something that belongs to my family's company. He also seems to have access to the residence. I don't want anyone getting hurt."
Cole, who had been looking at the moving truck's bill of lading, turned. "What exactly is missing, ma'am?"
Clare blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Has anyone reported a missing company item or a stolen Ferrari?" Cole asked. "Do you have a report number or know the owner of the vehicle?"
"No, but people steal valuable cars every day. You can see why I'm concerned."