He stepped closer.
“Because I said so.”
A second patrol car arrived.
Officer Emily Foster stepped out.
She appeared to be in her early thirties.
Her expression was alert but not aggressive.
“What's going on?” she asked.
Rourke pointed at me.
“Possible stolen vehicle. Driver's refusing instructions.”
I looked at her.
“My registration is in the glove compartment. He hasn't checked it.”
Foster glanced at the Aston Martin.
Then at the temporary registration.
“Did dispatch confirm a stolen vehicle report?”
Rourke frowned.
“I'm working on it.”
“What's the plate information?”
“Temporary tag.”
“I can see that. Did you run the VIN?”
“Not yet.”
Foster looked at me.
“Sir, do you have identification?”
“Yes. My wallet is in my jacket pocket.”
“Would you mind telling me your name before reaching for it?”
“Marcus Bennett.”
She nodded.
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett. Please keep your hands where I can see them while we verify the information.”
Her tone was professional.
I appreciated that.
Rourke did not.
“Emily, I've got this.”
She looked at him.
“Then let's confirm the vehicle information.”
He stared at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he turned away and called dispatch.
The woman with the golden retriever was still watching.
She had moved closer to the sidewalk.
A young man stood near the entrance to the coffee shop, holding his phone.
Rourke noticed him.
“Put that away!”
The young man looked startled.
“I'm standing on the sidewalk.”
“I said put it away.”
Foster intervened.
“Daniel, leave him alone. He's not interfering.”
Rourke's face reddened.
“Are you taking his side?”
“I'm asking you to focus on the stop.”
I watched the exchange carefully.
Something was wrong beyond the original accusation.
Rourke wasn't simply suspicious.
He was angry that anyone questioned him.
And Foster seemed familiar with that behavior.
Dispatch responded.
“No stolen vehicle report associated with the VIN provided.”
Foster looked toward Rourke.
“Then we need to verify ownership.”
Rourke's mouth tightened.
I spoke calmly.
“The purchase agreement is in my briefcase. The temporary registration matches the VIN. My insurance information is also available.”
Foster nodded.
“Thank you.”
Rourke stepped in front of her.
“He could've forged it.”
She stared at him.
“We haven't even looked at it.”
“He's driving a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
I corrected him.
“The purchase price was higher than that.”
Rourke turned sharply.
“Don't get smart with me.”
I said nothing.
Foster looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“Daniel, let's finish the verification.”
He ignored her.
Instead, he leaned toward me.
“Where do you work?”
“Bennett Dynamics.”
“What do you do there?”
“I'm the CEO.”
Rourke laughed.
“Sure you are.”
Foster looked at me again.
“Bennett Dynamics?”
“Yes.”
“The technology company?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
Then her eyes widened slightly.
“Are you Marcus Bennett, the founder?”
“I am.”
Rourke scoffed.
“Oh, come on.”
Foster looked toward the dashboard.
The incoming call notification had appeared again.
Chief Richard Calloway.
This time, she saw it.
And unlike Rourke, she recognized the significance.
“Daniel,” she said quietly, “I think we need to contact a supervisor.”
He stared at her.
“For what?”
“Because the vehicle isn't reported stolen, and we need to clarify the basis for this stop.”
He stepped toward her.
“I'm the senior officer here.”
She held his gaze.
“That doesn't change the facts.”
My phone rang a third time.
This time, the caller was Allison Price.
I looked toward the dashboard.
“Officer Foster, I'm expected at City Hall in fifteen minutes. May I answer that call?”
Rourke snapped, “No.”
Foster looked at him.
“Why not?”
“Because I said no.”
She took a breath.
“Daniel, we need to complete the stop without escalating it.”
I looked at her.
“May I ask whether I'm under arrest?”
Rourke answered immediately.
“You might be.”
“For what offense?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “Obstruction.”
I looked at Foster.
She did not appear convinced.
“Mr. Bennett,” she said, “please remain here while I request a supervisor.”
She stepped away.
Rourke followed her.
Their voices dropped.
But my dashcam's exterior microphone continued recording.
“You're embarrassing me,” Rourke said.
Foster answered, “I'm trying to keep this from getting worse.”
“You think I don't know what I'm doing?”
“I think we need a supervisor.”
“Calloway will back me.”
Foster paused.
“Then let him review it.”
At 8:24, Sergeant Thomas Avery arrived.
He was a tall man in his fifties with a calm expression and a measured way of speaking.
He approached Foster first.
She explained what had happened.
Avery listened without interrupting.
Then he walked toward me.
“Mr. Bennett, I'm Sergeant Avery. I understand there's a question about your vehicle.”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind showing me the registration and purchase documents?”
“Not at all.”
He nodded.
“Please retrieve them slowly. Officer Foster will observe.”
I opened the passenger door.
I removed the folder from my briefcase.
I handed him the temporary registration, insurance card, and purchase agreement.
He examined them.
Then he compared the VIN.
Everything matched.
He contacted dispatch for confirmation.
The dealership verified the transaction.
The vehicle was registered to Bennett Holdings LLC, a company I owned.