A woman shouted from four houses down.

Vivien Hartman was marching toward them, waving her phone like an official document. Behind her came Gregory, fastening the cuffs of a white dress shirt.

“There he is!” Vivien shouted to people emerging from their houses. “He thinks he can bring stolen property into our community and hide behind a garage door!”

Elijah kept his hands visible. “Vivien, you need to stop making claims you cannot support.”

“I have a record showing this vehicle isn’t yours.”

“A registration record not matching my name doesn’t establish theft.”

“That’s for the police to decide.”

He looked at Gregory. “You know the difference. Tell her.”

Gregory spoke quietly. “I’d advise everyone to wait for the officers.”

It was an oddly polished answer. Not she’s wrong. Not we can discuss the estate paperwork. Just a lawyer making room for an event already in motion.

Elijah looked at the street. A white flatbed recovery truck was creeping past the neighborhood entrance. Its driver slowed, saw the growing crowd, and lowered his head behind the windshield.

“Who called that truck?” Elijah asked.

Vivien’s eyes flickered. “What truck?”

“The one with the empty flatbed.”

Gregory stepped in. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Then the sirens arrived.

Officer Rivera pulled up first, followed by Officer Lang and Sergeant Hayes. Rookie Officer Chen came in the third cruiser. They stepped out to find Vivien already shouting instructions.

“I want the vehicle seized,” she said. “He doesn’t have valid registration. There’s a complaint against the VIN. He’s been refusing to cooperate all week.”

Rivera looked toward the driveway and saw Elijah.

“Chief Grant?”

Vivien went silent.

Logan lowered his camera. Gregory’s gaze traveled from Elijah to Rivera, then to the departing tow truck. He seemed to calculate several things at once.

“Morning,” Elijah said. “I’m the subject of the complaint.”

“You’re the new police chief?” Vivien whispered.

He looked at her. “That’s my job. It doesn’t make my car any more or less legally mine.”

That was not the answer she expected.

She had expected him to make the officers take orders. She had expected a threat she could record, evidence that he used his position to intimidate a private citizen. He gave her neither.

“Sergeant,” Elijah said to Hayes, “this concerns my personal property. Document what you’ve been told. Contact an outside agency to handle any disputed ownership question. I won’t direct the investigation.”