Karen's face changed.
“Chief?”
“Stop whatever enforcement action you're taking and maintain the scene.”
“Sir, I have a noncompliant homeowner who—”
“Maintain the scene.”
Karen swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus heard another voice in the background.
Then Wallace said:
“Sergeant Alvarez is on the way.”
Karen stared at Marcus.
Marcus lowered the phone.
She looked suddenly less certain.
But not defeated.
Not yet.
“You called the chief directly?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you have his personal number?”
Marcus did not answer.
Karen's expression shifted toward suspicion.
“Who are you?”
Marcus looked toward Jamal.
His son was still crying against Alicia.
Frosting dripped from the edge of the table.
One paper candle had fallen onto the grass.
Marcus wished nobody had to answer Karen's question.
His position should not matter.
His name should not matter.
His connections should not matter.
But the truth was already coming.
Before Marcus could speak, a woman's voice came from behind him.
“Because he was appointed this morning.”
Everybody turned.
Denise Cole was looking at her phone.
She had been reading something.
“What?”
Karen asked.
Denise raised the screen.
“The mayor's press release.”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
The city had published it at noon.
He had hoped most people would ignore it until Monday.
Denise read:
“Marcus Carter appointed chair of the Independent Civilian Police Conduct Review Commission.”
The lawn became completely silent.
Karen stared at Marcus.
He said nothing.
Denise continued reading.
“Former federal compliance attorney. Current director of ethics and risk oversight for Brennan Logistics.”
Marcus sighed.
“Denise.”
She stopped.
“Sorry.”
Karen looked from her phone to Marcus.
“You're the review chair?”
Marcus answered carefully.
“As of this morning.”
The officer's expression changed completely.
Not into fear exactly.
Recognition.
Consequences.
The green body-camera light continued blinking.
Marcus hated the twist almost as much as he appreciated the protection it provided.
Because now everyone would think the important fact was that Karen had chosen the wrong father.
That was not the important fact.
The important fact was sitting behind him wearing a paper crown and sobbing over a destroyed cake.
Karen slowly looked toward Jamal.
Then at the smashed frosting on her gloves.
Marcus saw calculation in her expression.
He knew it immediately.
“Do not turn that camera off.”
Karen looked at him.
“Don't tell me how to operate equipment.”
Marcus's voice became colder.
“I am not giving you an order as chair.”
He raised one hand.
“I will not be participating in any review of this incident.”
That surprised everyone.
Including Karen.
Marcus continued.
“I’m the complainant.”
“I’m the child's father.”
“I’m a direct witness.”
“That makes me conflicted.”
Karen stared.
Marcus put his phone in his pocket.
“But the recording belongs to the evidence system.”
“And the chief just told you to maintain the scene.”
Karen said nothing.
Alicia looked at her husband.
Despite everything, there was pride in her expression.
Marcus walked backward toward his family.
Slowly.
No sudden movement.
Then knelt beside Jamal.
“Hey.”
Jamal would not look at him.
Marcus touched his shoulder.
“Buddy.”
“They broke it.”
“I know.”
“You said I could blow six candles.”
“I know.”
“Mom made it.”
“I know.”
Jamal finally looked up.
His eyes were red.
“Can we fix it?”
Marcus glanced toward the table.
The cake was destroyed beyond repair.
At least aesthetically.
“Not that one.”
Jamal cried again.
Marcus pulled him close.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn't do it.”
“No.”
Marcus looked over his son's head toward Karen.
“But I’m still sorry.”
Sergeant Elena Alvarez arrived seven minutes later.
She stepped from a patrol SUV.
Forty-two.
Latina.
Hair in a low bun.
Calm eyes.
No rushing.
No theatrical authority.
She first looked at Karen.
Then at Marcus.
Then at the cake.
Then at the children.
“What happened?”
Karen began.
“We received a disturbance call. The homeowner became uncooperative and—”
Marcus interrupted.
“Sergeant.”
Alvarez looked at him.
“I would prefer you separate witnesses before taking full statements.”
Karen glared.
Marcus immediately added:
“That's a request as a resident, not an instruction.”
Alvarez considered.
Then nodded.
“Reasonable.”
She called another unit.
Officer David Kim arrived three minutes later.
Alvarez asked Karen to stand near her patrol car.
Kim spoke with Marcus.
Alvarez spoke with Alicia.
Then parents.
Then children only with parental permission.
Nobody interviewed Jamal beyond asking whether he had been physically hurt.
He had not.
Marcus appreciated that.
The cake did not need a six-year-old witness to prove what happened.
The body camera had recorded it.
At least Marcus hoped it had.
He watched Alvarez approach Karen.
They spoke quietly.
Karen's voice rose once.
Marcus could not hear the words.
Alvarez said something.
Karen became silent.
Then she removed her body camera.
Marcus stood.
Every muscle tightened.
Alvarez saw him.
She immediately raised one hand.
“Battery transfer.”
Marcus stopped.
Alvarez continued:
“Officer Briggs's camera is being secured in my vehicle for upload.”
Marcus nodded.
“Thank you.”
Karen looked furious.
Alvarez ignored her.
The party was over.
Not officially.
Nobody ordered the guests to leave.
But the children had stopped playing.
Parents gathered belongings.
The bounce house still hummed uselessly.
Alicia began packing paper plates.
Marcus stopped her.
“Leave it.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Don't clean the table yet.”
“Marcus.”
“Photographs.”
She stared at him for a second.
Then nodded.
Of course.
Evidence.
Marcus hated thinking that way at his son's birthday party.
But he took photographs.
Table.
Cake.
Frosting.
Officer shoe prints in the grass.
Patrol car position.
Speaker volume controls.
Decorations.
Time stamps.
He asked three parents to save their videos.
Not post them.
Save originals.
Denise already had hers automatically backed up.
“Marcus.”
She lowered her voice.
“You're not going to like this.”
“What?”
“Somebody already livestreamed part of it.”
He closed his eyes.
“Who?”
“Paul's nephew.”