A message from his mother.
Heading back to base. Love you, baby. Call you tonight.
Ethan never had a chance to read it.
Sergeant Miller stepped across the parking lot with the confidence of a man who believed the ground itself belonged to him.
He adjusted his sunglasses.
Officer Hayes followed a few steps behind, one hand resting near his belt.
Ethan was halfway back to the Mercedes, water bottle in hand, when he saw them approaching.
He slowed.
Not because he had done anything wrong.
Because he knew what he had been taught to do.
Stay calm.
Stay respectful.
Keep your hands where they can see them.
Do not argue.
Do not make sudden movements.
“Afternoon, officers,” Ethan said.
Miller did not return the greeting.
He stopped about three feet away.
First, he looked at Ethan.
Then at the Mercedes.
Then back at Ethan.
“Nice car.”
His voice was flat.
“That yours?”
“Yes, sir. It’s registered in my mother’s name, Vanessa Brooks, but it’s mine. She bought it for me.”
Miller slowly looked Ethan up and down.
Worn sneakers.
Faded jeans.
A gray hoodie with a fraying collar.
Then he looked at the Mercedes again.
Chrome trim shining in the sun.
Leather seats visible through the windows.
“Vanessa Brooks,” Miller repeated.
“And who exactly is Vanessa Brooks?”
“My mother, sir.”
“Your mother?”
Miller gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes.
“And what does your mother do that she can hand out Mercedes like candy?”
“She’s in the military, sir.”
Officer Hayes was leaning against the rear of the Mercedes now, both palms against the paint.
He laughed.
“Military what? A cook on base? Cleaning up in the mess hall?”
Ethan tightened his grip around the water bottle.
He kept his voice controlled.
“She’s an officer at Camp Lejeune, sir.”
Miller’s smile disappeared.
He stepped closer until Ethan could smell stale coffee on his breath.
“An officer. Right. And I’m the Secretary of Defense.”
He held out his hand.
“License and registration. Now.”
Ethan moved slowly.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, opened it, and handed over his driver’s license.
Then he reached through the open window of the Mercedes and opened the glove compartment.
The registration was inside.
So was the handwritten note from his mother.
When Ethan pulled out the registration, the note slipped loose and landed on the passenger seat.
He left it there.
Miller studied Ethan’s license as though searching for evidence of a forgery.
Then he looked at the registration.
Registered to Vanessa Brooks.
He raised his eyes.
“So the car isn’t in your name.”
“My mother’s name, sir. She—”
“I heard you the first time.”
Miller handed the documents to Hayes.