At the property line, neighbors were gathering.
Phones were raised.
Some called Otis’ name.
Others shouted at the deputies.
Through the cruiser window, Otis watched Freeman Farm disappear behind him.
The morning sun revealed the blackened barn.
Bullet damage.
Painted hate messages.
Destroyed fencing.
His family’s land had been scarred.
But it was still standing.
The jail intake process moved painfully slowly.
Otis waited while his injuries stiffened and his body cooled from the previous night’s exertion.
Shirley repeatedly demanded medical attention through legal channels, but the response was minimal.
Eventually, a nurse examined him briefly.
Then a guard led him toward a cell.
“Protective custody,” the guard said.
The cell was bare.
Concrete.
Steel.
A narrow bed.
A sink.
A toilet.
The door closed behind him with a heavy metallic sound.
Otis sat carefully on the thin mattress.
His body hurt.
But his mind remained clear.
Somewhere down the corridor, someone cried.
Other prisoners shouted.
Gates opened and closed.
Radios crackled.
Otis closed his eyes.
He controlled his breathing the same way he had learned to do decades earlier.
Hours passed.
Eventually, a guard appeared.
“Phone call.”
Otis rose stiffly and followed him.
Shirley answered immediately.
“They came to the house.”
Otis’ grip tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“Two men claiming to be building inspectors.”
Her voice was controlled, but he heard the fear underneath it.
“They said they’d received complaints about code violations.”
“Were they legitimate?”
“No.”
Shirley paused.
“I saw their truck at Wade’s garage yesterday.”
She continued.
“They took pictures. Made comments about condemning the property.”
Another pause.
“They said things would be easier if I convinced you to be reasonable about the land.”
Anger rose inside Otis.
But his voice remained calm.
“Are you safe?”
“Dre’s here. Some veterans from your support group too.”
She hesitated.
“Otis…”
“What?”
“The footage from our primary security storage is gone.”
He closed his eyes.
“Someone got into it?”
“Yes.”
“The physical drives are missing too.”
Otis rested his forehead against the cool wall beside the phone.
Their evidence.
Gone.
Or at least whoever had taken it believed so.
“The lawyers still coming?” he asked.
“Yes.”