A woman pushed a stroller past the window.
Renee wrapped both hands around the paper cup and breathed.
Then her government phone vibrated.
She looked at the screen.
Counterintelligence.
Renee closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
She answered.
“Whitaker.”
The voice on the other end began speaking fast.
Renee listened.
What should have been a two-minute update became a nineteen-minute conversation involving an intercepted financial transfer, an allied intelligence service, and a foreign official who had suddenly decided normal diplomatic procedure was optional.
Renee authorized one action.
Rejected another.
Then ordered everyone involved to wait until legal review was complete.
When the call ended, her coffee had gone nearly cold.
She stood.
Mateo looked over.
“Everything okay?”
“Apparently the world continues.”
“That seems inconsiderate.”
Renee smiled.
“It usually is.”
She stepped outside.
Then stopped.
Across the street, someone was towing her Bentley.
The front wheels were already raised.
A city tow truck sat at an awkward angle beside the Bentley while thick cables pulled beneath the front frame. Two Metropolitan Police cruisers were parked nearby, lights flashing lazily, more for visibility than urgency.
A small crowd had gathered.
Washington loved a spectacle.
Especially one involving an expensive car.
Renee crossed the street.
A tall officer stood beside the tow operator.
His nameplate read BENNETT.
“That vehicle belongs to me,” Renee said. “Stop the tow.”
Officer Paul Bennett glanced at her.
Then at the Bentley.
Then back at the tow driver.
“Stay on the sidewalk, ma’am.”
“I am on the sidewalk.”
“Then stay there.”
Renee stared at him.
“The Bentley is registered to me.”
A second officer near the cruiser laughed quietly.
He looked younger than Bennett, maybe early thirties.
His badge read Officer Sean Maddox.
“Of course it is,” Maddox said.
Renee turned.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“You said something.”
“I said nothing you need to worry about.”
Renee looked from Maddox to Bennett.
“I have identification, vehicle registration, insurance, and proof of ownership. The vehicle is legally parked. Stop the tow and verify the plate.”
Bennett gave the tow driver a small motion with two fingers.
Continue.
The hydraulic system groaned.
The Bentley shifted.
Renee’s voice became firmer.
“Stop.”
Nobody did.
That was the exact moment a man leaving a nearby pharmacy slowed down.
Then a delivery driver carrying a box stopped.
A woman with a small dog turned around.
Crowds do not always recognize injustice immediately.
But people recognize when a conversation stops making sense.
Renee approached one step closer.
“I am going to remove my wallet from my bag.”
Maddox straightened instantly.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Renee stopped moving.
“My hands are visible.”
“Keep them there.”
“You just told me to prove ownership.”
“And now I’m telling you not to reach.”
Renee held perfectly still.
The contradiction hung in the air.
Several bystanders noticed.
A woman near the curb lifted her phone.
Renee spoke slowly.
“My identification is inside my handbag. How would you like me to retrieve it?”
Maddox looked irritated.
Before he could answer, another officer approached from the first cruiser.
Lieutenant Howard Rusk was in his mid-forties, heavy through the shoulders, with a face that looked permanently inconvenienced.
“What’s happening?”
Bennett pointed at Renee.