"Shut up!" Fontaine yanked Marcus' arms behind him and slapped handcuffs on his wrists, tightening them until they bit into his skin. "You're being detained for suspected immigration violations."
Marcus' mind went blank for a second. "Immigration violations? I'm a US citizen. I was born in Philadelphia. I showed you my driver's license."
"Yeah, a fake one," Fontaine said.
He pushed Marcus toward the back of the BMW and made him stand there while he went back to the ICE vehicle. He returned with a tablet and started tapping on it.
"What's your real name?"
"Marcus Anthony Hayes. I just told you that."
"Where are you really from?"
"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I'm American. I'm a citizen."
Fontaine looked up from the tablet, his expression filled with contempt. "Right. So what are you doing driving a $70,000 car through Buckhead?"
Marcus stared at him. "I bought it. I'm a partner at a law firm. This is insane. I need to make a phone call."
"You don't get a phone call," Fontaine said. "Not until we verify your status."
"My status is American!" Marcus' voice rose despite himself. He forced himself to breathe, to stay calm. Losing his temper would only make this worse. "Please, I'm supposed to be at my wedding in an hour. Just call the number on my driver's license. Call my office. Call anyone. They'll verify who I am."
Fontaine laughed. It was a mean, ugly sound. "Your wedding? That's a good one." He stepped closer, invading Marcus' space. "Let me tell you what I think. I think you're illegal. I think you stole that car. I think that license is fake. And I think you're about to spend the next six months in a detention facility before you get deported back to whatever country you're really from."
Marcus felt panic rising in his chest. He looked around. They were on a busy street. Cars were slowing down as they passed, drivers staring. A few people had their phones out, recording.
"Please," Marcus said, hating how desperate he sounded. "Please, just let me call someone. My fiancée's father can verify everything. Just one phone call."
"Oh, now you've got a fiancée," Fontaine mocked. "What's next? You going to tell me you're related to the president?"
Marcus swallowed hard. He didn't want to play this card, didn't want to sound like he was name-dropping, but he was running out of options. "Her father is Senator Richard Castellano. He's the White House Chief of Staff. Please, just call and verify. That's all I'm asking."
Fontaine stared at him for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing. "The Chief of Staff? You hear that?" He looked around like he was talking to an audience. "This illegal thinks he's marrying into the White House!"
He grabbed Marcus by the back of the neck and started walking him toward the ICE vehicle. "Come on, buddy. Let's go for a ride."
"No, wait!" Marcus tried to plant his feet, but Fontaine was stronger and he had leverage. "You're making a mistake. Just verify it! One phone call!"
Fontaine shoved him hard against the side of the SUV. Marcus' shoulder hit the metal, and pain shot down his arm. "The only mistake here is you thinking you could lie to a federal agent," Fontaine growled.
Marcus' phone was still in his car. His wedding was starting in 53 minutes, and nobody knew where he was.
Agent Fontaine dragged Marcus to the back of the ICE vehicle and opened the rear door. Marcus could see inside: the metal bench seats, the partitions separating the back from the front, the smell of industrial cleaner and sweat. This was real. This was actually happening. He was about to be put in the back of a federal vehicle on his wedding day because a racist agent decided he looked illegal.
"Get in," Fontaine ordered, his hand still gripping the back of Marcus' neck.
"I'm not getting in there," Marcus said, his voice shaking but firm. "You have no legal basis to detain me. I showed you my identification. I answered your questions. You're violating my rights."
Fontaine's face went red. "Oh, so now you're a lawyer?"
"I told you I'm a lawyer," Marcus said. "I work at Henderson and Brooks. You can call them right now and verify it. My boss is Samuel Henderson. His number is—"
"I don't care about your fake job at your fake law firm," Fontaine interrupted. He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. "Turn around."
"Why?"
"Because I'm documenting this arrest. Turn around."
Marcus turned, his hands still cuffed behind his back. Fontaine took several photos of him, then walked around to photograph the BMW from different angles.
"Nice car for an illegal," Fontaine said as he snapped pictures. "I'm betting this comes back stolen. Probably took it from some parking lot downtown."
"I have the title," Marcus said desperately. "It's in my glove box. The registration matches my name. Everything matches."
Fontaine ignored him and made a call on his radio. "This is Fontaine. I need a tow truck to Peachtree Road near East Paces Ferry. I've got a suspected stolen vehicle and a subject in custody for immigration violations."
Marcus felt his stomach drop. They were going to tow his car. They were going to take him somewhere. And nobody knew where he was.