He would not threaten.
And he would not allow the officer to turn the situation into a confrontation that could later be misrepresented.
Instead, he wanted a clear record of everything.
"Officer Whitmore," Marcus said quietly.
The officer froze.
"How do you know my name?"
Marcus glanced at the nameplate on his uniform.
"Your badge."
Whitmore looked down instinctively.
Marcus continued.
"I would like to speak with your supervisor."
The officer's expression became almost amused.
"You're not calling my supervisor."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so."
Marcus looked at him for a moment.
Then he slowly removed his phone, keeping it visible.
Whitmore immediately moved forward.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm making a phone call."
"Put that away."
Marcus held the device in front of himself.
"I'm not interfering with your work."
Whitmore reached toward the phone.
Marcus stepped back slightly.
"Please don't touch me."
The officer stopped.
For the first time, his expression suggested uncertainty.
Marcus tapped the screen.
A familiar contact appeared.
He pressed the call button.
The phone began ringing.
Whitmore folded his arms.
"Who are you calling?"
Marcus looked directly at him.
"Someone who needs to know what's happening."
The call connected.
A calm voice answered.
"Marcus? Is everything all right?"
Marcus looked at the officer.
"No, David. I'm at the Brookhaven gas station on Route 16. An officer has stopped me, searched my belongings, and demanded identification without explaining the reason for the detention."
There was a brief silence.
Then the voice on the other end became serious.
"Are you safe?"
"I'm standing beside my vehicle. The officer is here."
"Do you have his identification?"
"Daniel Whitmore, Brookhaven Police Department."
Whitmore's expression changed.
He hadn't expected Marcus to provide the information so casually.
"Marcus," the voice continued, "stay calm. Don't argue with him. I'm going to contact the appropriate people."
Marcus nodded.
"Understood."
He ended the call.
Whitmore stepped closer.
"Who was that?"
Marcus slipped the phone into his hand without putting it away.
"My colleague."
"What's his name?"
"David."
"David what?"
Marcus looked at him.
"Why do you need to know?"
Whitmore shook his head.
"You're making this much more complicated than it needs to be."
Marcus gave a quiet response.
"I believe it became complicated when you approached me without explaining why."
The officer opened his mouth to answer.
But before he could speak, a second phone began vibrating inside Marcus's jacket.
Marcus looked at the screen.
A new notification had appeared.
He glanced at it, then slowly raised his eyes toward the officer.
Something had changed.
And Officer Whitmore was about to discover that the man standing beside the black sedan was not someone he could intimidate into silence.
Not even remotely.
The notification came from David's office.
Marcus glanced at the message.
"The Chief has been informed. He wants to know exactly what happened. We are sending someone to your location immediately."
Marcus read it twice before locking his phone.
Officer Whitmore was still watching him.
"Something interesting?" the officer asked sarcastically.
Marcus slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Apparently, someone is coming to speak with you."
Whitmore laughed.
"Listen, buddy. I've been a police officer for seventeen years. I've dealt with people who think they're important. I've dealt with lawyers, politicians, businessmen, and every kind of troublemaker you can imagine. You're not going to scare me with a phone call."
Marcus said nothing.
He had learned long ago that people who were determined to underestimate you rarely needed additional encouragement.
Whitmore returned to the driver's side of the sedan and began examining the vehicle's exterior.
"Who owns this car?" he asked.
"I do."
"Registered in your name?"
"Yes."
"Show me the registration."
Marcus pointed toward the glove compartment.
"It's inside the vehicle."
"Get it."
Marcus looked at him.
"May I retrieve it?"
Whitmore rolled his eyes.
"Just get it."
Marcus slowly approached the driver's door. He opened it, leaned inside, and retrieved a small document folder from the glove compartment.
He handed it to the officer.
Whitmore examined the registration.
The name matched the driver's license.
The vehicle identification number also matched.
There was nothing unusual about the documents.
Still, the officer seemed reluctant to accept that he had found nothing.
"Where are you coming from?" he asked.
"An appointment."
"With whom?"
"A client."
"What kind of client?"
"Business."
Whitmore shook his head.
"You don't seem very interested in helping me understand what you're doing here."
Marcus looked at him.