Bel Air had a way of enforcing silence without ever asking for it.
The streets curved gently, deliberately, as though discouraging urgency. Trees were trimmed with the kind of care that suggested long-standing agreements rather than municipal regulation. Even the evening breeze seemed restrained, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and distant jasmine instead of noise.
Derek Morgan noticed these things as he stepped out onto the stone path leading from his front door.
He had just finished reviewing shipment confirmations on his tablet—materials routed through three different intermediaries, invoices already settled—when the security cameras flagged movement at the edge of the driveway. Not a threat. No unusual heat signatures. Just people.
Four of them.
A man and a woman in their late forties, dressed casually but expensively. Another woman, slightly older, hair pulled back with effortless precision. And a younger man—mid-thirties, maybe—holding a paper bag with a wine bottle peeking out.
Derek paused.
He hadn't scheduled anything.
Bala was not with him. For the first time since moving into the house, Derek was alone by design.
He set the tablet down inside, straightened his shirt—a simple charcoal tee this evening—and opened the door.
"Good evening," Derek said.
The group smiled in near-perfect unison, the way people did when they had rehearsed politeness in advance.
"Hi," the older woman said first. "I'm Evelyn Harper. We live two houses down. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."
She gestured lightly to the others.
"This is Mark and Susan Whitmore," she continued, nodding to the couple. "And Daniel Kline—he lives up the street."
Daniel lifted the bag slightly. "We brought wine. Thought we'd introduce ourselves."
Derek stepped aside without hesitation. "That's very kind of you. Please—come in."
They exchanged glances. Just a fraction of a second too long.
Most people in Bel Air didn't invite strangers inside so easily.
The foyer swallowed sound as they entered. High ceilings. Clean lines. No visible clutter. No art on the walls yet. The house felt lived in, but barely—like a space waiting for decisions.
Susan Whitmore glanced around, her smile tightening just a little. "Your parents must be very proud," she said lightly. "It's a beautiful place."
Derek accepted the wine from Daniel and set it gently on the counter.
"I appreciate that," he replied. "But it's just me."
Evelyn tilted her head. "Oh? Are they… away?"
"No," Derek said calmly. "I mean I own the house."
The air changed.
Not dramatically. No gasps. Just a collective recalibration.
Daniel chuckled reflexively. "Right. Of course you do."
Mark Whitmore followed up, friendly but probing. "So you're… renting to them?"
Derek met his eyes without challenge. "No. I purchased it outright."
Silence settled—not awkward, exactly, but curious.
Susan recovered first. "Well," she said, laughing softly, "that's impressive. You must be doing very well for yourself."
Derek nodded once. "I try to be responsible."
Evelyn studied him more carefully now. "What is it you do, Derek?"
He didn't hesitate. "I run a startup."
That answer satisfied something fundamental in them. It was familiar. Contained. A word that allowed them to slot him into an existing mental category.
"Oh," Daniel said, relieved. "Tech?"
"Yes," Derek replied.
Mark leaned against the counter, warming. "AI? Crypto?"
Derek smiled faintly. "Software."
That was enough.
They didn't need more, and he wasn't going to give it.
Conversation settled into safer territory. Neighborhood watch protocols. Quiet hours. The informal HOA expectations that weren't written anywhere but enforced through social pressure and polite reminders.
Derek listened attentively, asked questions when appropriate, thanked them for the information.
No arrogance. No defensiveness.
This, more than the house, unsettled them.
"You're very young," Susan said finally, not unkindly. "If you don't mind me saying."
"I don't," Derek replied. "People say that often."
Evelyn smiled. "Well, we're glad to have you here. It's a quiet neighborhood. We like to keep it that way."
"So do I," Derek said.
And he meant it.
They stayed another ten minutes, no more. Bel Air visits were never long. Lingering was impolite.
As they left, Daniel hesitated at the door. "We have a charity dinner next month. Nothing formal. You'd be welcome."
Derek inclined his head. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."
When the door closed, the house returned to its preferred state—stillness.
Derek stood where he was for a moment, listening to the absence of sound.
No alerts. No calls. No crises.
He moved to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.
This was new.
Not wealth. Not control. He had known those for years now.
This was proximity to normalcy.
In the Blackfire building, every hallway had purpose. Every face carried urgency. In North Compton, progress moved with momentum and resistance in equal measure. Even the ranch in Bel Air had been, until now, just another asset—secure, discreet, convenient.
But tonight, it felt like a home in the way homes were supposed to feel to people who hadn't spent their lives bracing for collapse.
Derek didn't romanticize it.
He cataloged it.
Later that evening, two houses down, Evelyn Harper poured herself a glass of wine and sat across from her husband.
"What do you think?" he asked.
She frowned slightly. "I don't know yet."
"Trust fund?" he suggested.
"Maybe," she said. "But he didn't talk like one."
Across the street, Susan Whitmore scrolled through her phone at the dinner table.
"No parents," she murmured. "No entourage. No security."
Mark shrugged. "Tech kids are strange."
Daniel Kline, walking his dog, sent a message to a private group chat: New neighbor's young. Really young. Owns the house.
Replies came quickly.
Inherited?
Crypto?
Foreign money?
No one mentioned danger.
They didn't see it.
Back in his living room, Derek reviewed a short list he'd made earlier that day.
— Follow up with Beowulf
— Material acquisition confirmation
— Schedule server expansion review
— Quiet period: 72 hours
He added one more item, then paused.
— Attend charity dinner? (Optional)
He set the tablet down and walked to the balcony.
Bel Air stretched out below him, lights spaced carefully, tastefully. Somewhere beyond it all, servers hummed, construction cranes moved through the night, and a virtual world continued to evolve without him watching.
For the first time in weeks, Derek allowed himself to simply stand.
Not because he needed rest.
But because he could.
Behind him, the house remained unguarded.
And that, more than anything else, was the rarest luxury he had ever owned.