Hell no. Imagine you're standing on your lawn, your property, dirt on your hands, and some dude rolls up calling you an animal. Then the cops show up and treat you like the criminal. You telling me you'd keep calm? Cuz I honestly don't know if I could.
Glenn Caldwell walked like a man who had done this before. No rush, no panic, just smooth, steady steps across the asphalt, Leather folder tucked under his arm. Reading glasses swinging gently from the cord around his neck. He looked like someone's golf buddy. Someone's country club neighbor.
The kind of man Gerald Hargrove would wave to from his porch without a second thought. And that's exactly why Gerald smiled when he saw him. Gerald stepped forward, hand already half extended. Finally. Are you with the department?
HOA board? Because I've been trying to tell these officers Glenn walked right past him. Didn't slow down. Didn't glance. Walked past Gerald like he was a mailbox.
He went straight to Oliver. Extended his hand. Firm shake. You all right? Oliver nodded.
I'm good. Took you long enough. Saturday traffic. Glenn set the leather folder on the porch railing and unzipped it. Brought everything.
Gerald's smile cracked. Just a little. Just around the edges. He looked at Branson. Looked at Moore.
Looked back at Glenn. You know him? Glenn didn't turn around. He was already pulling documents from the folder. Crisp white pages.
County seals. Notarized stamps. He spread them across the railing like a dealer laying out cards. Know him? Glenn said, still not looking at Gerald.
He's my client. Your client? Now Glenn turned. He looked at Gerald the way a surgeon looks at an X-ray. Clinical.
Detached. Almost bored. Hargrove, is it? Let me save everyone some time. He picked up the first document and handed it to Branson.
This is the deed for 4812 Catalpa Lane, recorded with the county 18 months ago. Owner, Underwood Property Group LLC. Sole member, Oliver Underwood. Branson read it. His lips moved slightly.
Glenn picked up the next page. This is the deed for 4810. He pointed to the house next door. Same owner. Next page.
He pointed across Oliver's other side. Same owner. Next page. End of the block. He pointed.
Next page. Pointed. Next page. Pointed. He let that settle.
Six deeds, six houses, all Oliver's. Then Glenn looked at Gerald. And for the first time, he spoke directly to him. In fact, Mr. Hargrove, your house at 4808 is the only property on this block that my client does not own.
A pause. Just long enough to twist the knife. So, if anyone is a guest on this street, I'd say it's you. Gerald's face went white. Not red.
White. The blood just left. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His hand, still half raised from the handshake Gerald never got, dropped to his side like a dead thing. Branson looked at the documents, looked at Oliver, looked at Gerald, then back at the documents.