Martha leaned in. "Show me."
The clerk started to speak again, and that's when Martha felt it, the sensation of being watched the way she'd been watched on her porch. She turned her head slightly and saw Deputy Rusk at the far end of the lobby, phone in his hand, camera pointed straight at her.
Martha didn't look away from Deputy Rusk. She didn't flinch. She let him see exactly what his little phone camera was capturing, an old woman who wasn't confused, wasn't trembling, and wasn't going to be nudged into signing anything just because a badge decided to stand close.
"Turn that off," she said.
Rusk didn't. He kept the lens aimed at her face, polite as a clerk at a checkout. "Public building, ma'am."
"So is my porch," Martha replied. "Didn't stop you from acting like it belonged to you."
The clerk behind the folding table pretended to organize papers, eyes glued to the stack like the forms could shield her. The relief desk line moved slowly behind Martha, people damp and hollow-eyed, holding documents in soggy folders, listening whether they wanted to or not.
Martha tapped the buyout sheet with one finger. "This isn't county."
The clerk's smile tightened. "It's a partnership program."
"With who?" Martha asked again, louder this time.
The man in the dry jacket by the hallway finally moved. He didn't hurry. He approached like he'd been invited.
Mid-forties, clean haircut, a watch that didn't belong in a disaster shelter, and boots that had never met mud. "Mrs. Caldwell," he said warmly, like they were neighbors.
"I'm Gordon Pell. I'm here to help expedite assistance. The county's overwhelmed. We're stepping in so folks like you don't get left behind."
Martha stared at his outstretched hand until he lowered it. "What company?"
"Midland Renewal Partners," Pell said, like it should reassure her. "We work with municipalities in recovery situations."
"Recovery?" Martha repeated. "Funny word for buyout."
Pell didn't lose his smile. "It's optional, but it's immediate. Hotel tonight, cash within days. You won't have to sleep under a tarp."
Martha felt heat rise in her chest. "I'm not sleeping under a tarp because I'm stubborn. I'm sleeping under a tarp because your sheriff walked onto my porch to shove papers in my face instead of fixing sirens."
Rusk's phone dipped, then lifted again, tracking her mouth as if he could use her words later. Pell leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was offering kindness.
"I know you're angry, but the system shows your insurance is lapsed. That means repairs will be complicated. This program removes complications."
Martha's jaw clenched. "My insurance isn't lapsed."
Pell gave a soft, regretful shake of his head. "The system says it is, and in a disaster, the system is what matters."
Martha turned back to the clerk. "Show me the record."
The clerk hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Pell, then to Rusk, then back to Martha. "I can't access that detail from this station."
"Then call someone who can," Martha said.
Pell's smile hardened at the edges. "Mrs. Caldwell, you're holding up the line."
Martha snapped her head toward him. "People in line are holding wet papers because they lost roofs. Don't talk to me about time."
A voice behind her said quietly, "Marty?"