Deputy Miller froze, his hand dropping away from his utility belt as his eyes locked onto Sterling’s gold star. "Investigator Sterling? Sir, we have an active corridor permit here from the clerk's office—"
"Quiet, Miller," Sterling snapped, stepping directly between the deputy and the neighbors. "Unclip your radio, remove your duty belt, and place it on the hood of your cruiser. You are suspended from all law enforcement duties pending a grand jury inquiry into official misconduct under color of authority."
Miller’s face went completely bloodless. "Sir, I was only dispatched to maintain order on a civil easement—"
"I said on the hood. Now."
Two state troopers moved past Sterling, positioning themselves on either side of Miller. The deputy’s hands trembled visibly as he unbuckled his leather duty belt, setting his sidearm, radio, and cuffs onto the black enamel of his cruiser before backing away with his head down.
Vance lowered his megaphone, his swagger evaporating into a rigid, defensive posture. "Look, Mr. Sterling, there’s an administrative misunderstanding here. We have a certified filing from Entry Clerk Howell. The docket is closed. We’re within our statutory rights under the light rail expansion act."
"You have a forged paper printed on an impact machine in a rail yard trailer," Sterling replied, walking up to Vance until the contractor was forced to step backward off Clara’s herb garden. "Entry Clerk B. Howell was taken into state custody twenty minutes ago at the courthouse intake desk. His office locker was searched, and his duplicate docket keys were recovered. Janice Miller is currently being detained at your railyard compound."
Sterling thrust the emergency injunction order against Vance’s chest, the exact way Vance had shoved his forged paper against mine the night before.
"The Chancery Court has issued an immediate stop-work injunction on all Corridor 402 parcels," Sterling said, his voice carrying clearly over the idling excavator. "The bank accounts of Highpoint Land Holdings have been frozen by federal order. And you, Mr. Vance, are under arrest for procurement of forged instruments, grand larceny of municipal appropriations, and aggravated assault on a vulnerable adult."
Vance’s eyes darted toward the alley, but a third state trooper had already rounded the corner of our garage, his hand resting firm against his duty holster.
"Carl!" Vance shouted toward the excavator cab, panic cracking his voice. "Back it up! Get the machine off the street!"
"Turn the key off, operator," I said, stepping onto the iron track step of the excavator and looking up into the cab window. "Unless you want to be listed as an unindicted co-conspirator on a hundred-thousand-dollar public fraud case."
The operator did not hesitate. He yanked the throttle down, turned the key to the left, and let the heavy diesel engine die.
The sudden silence that fell over Elm Street was heavy and complete. The only sound left was the quiet rustle of Clara’s damp lavender, bent and crushed beneath the surveyor stakes, and the measured, rhythmic click of steel handcuffs closing around B. Vance’s wrists.
CHAPTER 4: The Ground That Stayed Ours
The tow truck arrived forty minutes after the troopers clicked the second pair of ratcheting cuffs over Vance’s wrists. It took two heavy winch cables and twenty minutes of diesel grinding to drag the lowboy trailer off our curb, the steel chains screaming against the asphalt until the residential lane was finally clear. The excavator remained where Carl had cut its engine, marooned like a yellow iron monument between our sidewalk and the ditch, tagged with yellow evidence tape across both cabin handles and the hydraulic bleed valves.
Investigator Sterling stood on the sidewalk beside Clara, his coat collar turned up against the river wind, holding a blue clipboard with the state seal embossed across the aluminum clamp. He did not ask her to come downtown. A paramedic van from the third district station had pulled in behind the state cruisers, and an emergency medical technician named Sarah knelt on our bottom step, gently unwrapping the rough gauze I had taped around Clara’s elbow the evening before.
When the bandage came away, Sterling leaned down to photograph the purple swelling and the deep, abraded laceration where the brick corner had gouged the flesh. He took six photographs from three angles, his camera shutter clicking with dry, clinical precision, before having Clara sign an evidentiary affidavit on the clipboard.
"That's for the aggravated battery enhancement," Sterling said, capping his pen. "In this state, causing bodily harm to an individual over seventy during the commission of a felony land fraud carries a mandatory four-year minimum. Vance won't be bonding out on a simple misdemeanor citation."
Clara winced as the medic smoothed antiseptic ointment across the tear and applied a clean, sterile compression sleeve. "What about the paper, Mr. Sterling? The one with my name on it?"