Now here it was, walking in on polished shoes.
“It was unauthorized,” I said.
My father spun toward me. “Don’t you dare.”
I didn’t look at him. “I want all records preserved.”
Elliot nodded once and wrote something on the form.
“Preservation request initiated,” he said. “That includes submission logs, time windows, authentication records, and supporting surveillance if available. Do your cameras cover the register area?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
My mother put a hand on the counter, fingers splayed. “We’re family.”
Elliot’s expression didn’t change. “Family is not filing authority.”
Laya had gone pale. Her phone hovered uselessly at her waist now, camera forgotten entirely. She looked younger suddenly. Not innocent. Just unprepared for consequences that could not be edited.
My father drew himself up again. “You are threatening me.”
“I am documenting you,” Elliot said.
The bell rang once more.
Two uniformed officers stepped in.
They didn’t rush. That was somehow worse for my father. People who rush can be negotiated with through chaos. People who move calmly already know what they’re there for.
Officer Ramirez came first, dark hair pinned back, expression focused but not inflamed. Officer Chen followed half a pace behind, tall and broad, hand resting near his radio.
Ramirez looked directly at me. “We received a silent alarm from this location. Are you the owner?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “What happened?”
My father cut in before I could answer. “This is a family discussion—”
Ramirez raised one hand without taking her eyes off me. “Not asking you yet.”
It was the smallest gesture in the world. My father hated it more than shouting.
“They came in,” I said, keeping my voice level, “and demanded I sign over fifteen percent of my business. When I refused, my father threatened to call my landlord and get me removed from the space. When that didn’t work, they attempted a fraudulent filing from my guest Wi-Fi to change control of my LLC.”
Officer Chen’s gaze moved to the papers on the counter, then to Elliot’s clipboard, then to my phone.
“You have proof of the filing attempt?” he asked.
I handed him my phone. He looked at the portal alert, then handed it back carefully. Elliot stepped in and offered his sheet with the reference number. Chen scanned it.
“You have cameras?” Ramirez asked.
“Yes.”
She nodded once. “Do you want them removed from the premises?”
My mother’s mouth opened in offense. “Removed?”
I looked at my father.
Yes, I thought. Removed. Extracted. Denied. Named. All the things he had trained me never to do to him.
“Yes,” I said aloud. “And I want it documented that he attempted extortion.”
Officer Chen turned to my father. “Sir, step back from the counter.”
“This is absurd.”
“Step back.”
My father measured him. Calculated. He had always loved uniforms when they served his convenience and resented them the instant they became immovable. He stepped back.
