Different complainants.
Similar sequence.
Stop.
Identification.
Documentation cleared.
Encounter continued.
Consent disputed.
Search.
Resistance or obstruction language.
Reports describing aggression.
Camera irregularities.
Not enough yet.
Not enough to accuse.
Enough to watch.
And now Unit 74 stood in his driveway.
Darius’s first instinct was professional efficiency.
End it.
Turn around.
Show credentials.
Make them uncuff him.
Call the field office.
Preserve the footage.
Do this safely.
That was the rational option.
Then Keaton lifted the first box from the SUV and opened it without permission.
Kitchen items.
He moved through Darius’s belongings as though Darius were not standing ten feet away.
Darius thought about the complainants whose files he had read.
People without credentials.
People who had asked whether they could leave.
People who had been told compliance would make things easier.
People whose complaints later contained one officer’s word against another person’s.
If Darius revealed himself immediately, the officers would stop.
He knew that.
But what would that prove?
That Unit 74 treated an FBI agent carefully once it knew he was an FBI agent?
He could already imagine the report.
Identity misunderstanding resolved.
No further action.
Darius made a choice.
Not to provoke.
Not to encourage misconduct.
Not to place himself unnecessarily in danger.
Simply not to reveal a credential he had no legal obligation to produce.
If the officers stopped on their own, the incident would stop.
If they continued, the record would show why.
Keaton opened the first box.
Cast-iron skillet.
Bowls wrapped in paper.
Cutting board.
He moved everything.
Nothing.
Second box.
Books.
James Baldwin.
A constitutional-law text.
Two biographies.
A legal pad containing old personal notes unrelated to any current case.
Keaton picked it up.
Ror noticed.
“What’s that?”
“Notes,” Keaton said.
“About?”
Keaton flipped a page.
“Looks legal.”
Darius spoke.
“That is private property.”
Ror answered:
“Then you shouldn’t carry suspicious material around.”
Darius almost turned his head.
“Books are suspicious?”
“No.”
“What is?”
Ror did not answer.
Keaton dropped the notebook back.
Third box.
CAMILLE – ROOM.
Darius felt something tighten in his chest.
Keaton pulled out the small mirror.
Painted wooden frame.
Sandra had bought it at a craft market when Camille was six.
Keaton checked the back.
Placed it face down on the concrete.
Then the books.
Then the wrapped photograph.
The dish towel loosened.
A corner of the frame showed.
Darius said:
“Be careful with that.”
Keaton looked toward him.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a photograph of my wife and daughter.”
“Then maybe you should’ve packed it better.”
Darius closed his eyes for half a second.
Ror asked:
“Wife here?”
“She died.”
Bellamy’s grip loosened almost imperceptibly.
Ror moved on.
“Daughter?”
“At school.”
“Where?”
“That has nothing to do with why you stopped.”
Ror leaned closer.