"I'm studying," Caleb replied, gesturing slightly to his notebook. "AP Physics. The final is on Monday."
Rock didn't even glance at the math. "This is a private park. Residents only. There's a sign on the gate about the size of a billboard. How did you get in?"
"I walked through the gate," Caleb said simply.
"Right. And the electronic lock just magically opened for you." Rock's voice dripped with sarcastic disbelief. He leaned closer, trying to intimidate the teenager. "Look, kid, I don't want to hear the fairy tales. You hopped the fence. I know it. You know it. Pack up your bag. You're leaving now."
Caleb didn't move to pack his bag. Instead, he sat up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. He had been thoroughly briefed by his father's security detail on how to handle law enforcement encounters, but he also knew his rights, and he knew his address.
"Officer, with all due respect, I didn't hop the fence. I live in the neighborhood. I have every right to be sitting here."
Rock let out a sharp, humorless laugh. It was a bark of pure condescension.
"You live here in Highland Park?"
"Yeah. Okay. And I'm the King of England. Stand up, kid. I'm not asking you twice."
Caleb felt the first true spike of adrenaline, a cold knot forming in his stomach, but he kept his expression carefully neutral.
"I can prove it," Caleb offered softly. "I have the digital access pass on my phone, the HOA app. I can show you."
"Keep your hands right where I can see them." Rock snapped, his hand hovering dangerously close to his taser. "I know how this game works. I'm not playing it. You're trespassing on private property. Now, stand up and get your hands on the table."
Caleb realized then that this was not a misunderstanding. It was a script, and Officer Rock had already written the ending.
The situation was deteriorating faster than Caleb could manage. And to make matters worse, they were no longer alone.
The loud, barking nature of Rock's commands had drifted across the manicured lawns, attracting the attention of Beatrice Langley.
Beatrice was the self-appointed neighborhood watch captain of Highland Park. Clad in a crisp white Lululemon tennis skirt, an oversized pair of Chanel sunglasses resting on her highlighted blonde hair, she approached the pavilion with a purebred golden retriever tugging at the end of a retractable leash. In her hand, she gripped a pastel pink Yeti tumbler as if it were a scepter.
"Officer Rock, is everything all right here?" Beatrice called out, her voice a piercing melodic trill of forced concern.
She stopped at the edge of the pavilion, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto Caleb. Her posture immediately stiffened, her lips pursing into a tight, disapproving line.
Rock glanced over his shoulder. His demeanor instantly softening from aggressive cop to accommodating servant.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Langley. Everything is under control. Just dealing with a trespasser. Found him loitering in the pavilion."
"Oh, thank goodness you were here." Beatrice sighed loudly, taking a sip from her Yeti. She looked at Caleb, not with fear, but with profound annoyance, as if he were a stain on an otherwise perfect rug. "I've been telling the HOA board that we need higher fences. These kids from the east side just have no respect for private boundaries. It makes the neighborhood feel so unsafe."
Caleb looked from Rock to Beatrice, a quiet disbelief washing over him.
"I'm not from the east side," Caleb said, his voice rising just a fraction in volume. "I live here. My family moved in six months ago."
Beatrice let out a delicate, theatrical scoff.
"Moved in. Where exactly? Because I know everyone in this conservatory district, young man, and I have certainly never seen you."
"4401 Stratford Avenue," Caleb stated clearly.
The address hung in the air for a moment. Beatrice blinked, her Chanel glasses slipping slightly down her nose. Rock's eyes widened for a split second before his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
4401 Stratford Avenue wasn't just a house. It was the sprawling historic estate at the very peak of the hill, a property that had recently sold for over $12 million. It was the crown jewel of Highland Park.
"Now I know you're lying." Rock snarled, turning his full attention back to Caleb. The officer felt insulted. The kid wasn't just defying him. He was mocking him. "The Stratford estate? You expect me to believe you live in the biggest house in the district? That property is owned by the mayor."
"Yes," Caleb said, his voice dangerously quiet. "It is."
"That's enough." Rock shouted, slamming his hand down on the stone table, making Caleb's Montblanc pen rattle. "I'm done playing games with a punk who thinks he can smart mouth a police officer. Stand the hell up."
"Officer, if you just let me reach into my pocket for my phone, I can pull up the deed, the HOA app, or I can call—"
"I said hands where I can see them!" Rock roared.
He stepped forward, invading Caleb's personal space. With a sudden, aggressive jerk, Rock grabbed the straps of Caleb's black The North Face backpack, which was resting on the bench.