The Lamborghini was not a work vehicle.
That was precisely why he used it today.
No tactical SUV.
No government plates.
Nothing that looked official.
The operation had already become sensitive.
A two-year investigation into stolen exotic vehicles had expanded into something worse.
Police corruption.
Improper seizures.
Cash disappearing from impounded cars.
Luxury vehicles mysteriously reclassified as “unclaimed.”
And one city police unit appearing far too often around every incident.
The Sergeant now squeezing his wrist belonged to that unit.
The Black Man had recognized his name the moment he stepped from the cruiser.
Sergeant Ryan Calder.
Fifteen-year veteran.
Traffic Enforcement and Interdiction.
Six citizen complaints.
Three civil settlements.
No sustained discipline.
Possible connection to two seized vehicles that disappeared before federal agents could inspect them.
And now Calder had stopped the FBI supervisory agent running the case.
The Black Man had not planned that.
If anything, he wished it had not happened.
Because uncontrolled encounters damaged investigations.
Calder reached into the Black Man’s jacket.
“Let’s see what you’re hiding.”
The Black Man spoke immediately.
“Do not remove anything unless your body camera is active.”
Calder paused.
Then smiled.
“Giving orders again?”
“Is your camera recording?”
Calder said nothing.
The younger Officer looked at Calder’s chest.
A small red indicator light was on.
“Yes.”
The younger Officer answered instead.
“It’s recording.”
The Black Man nodded slightly.
“Good.”
Calder searched the inner pocket.
His fingers found leather.
He pulled out a black credential wallet.
“Here we go.”
The Black Man said:
“Open it.”
Calder flipped it open.
The gold badge caught the afternoon light.
Four letters sat beneath the seal.
FBI.
Calder froze.
The younger Officer inhaled sharply.
The Black Man remained pressed against the Lamborghini.
Calder read the identification.
Then read it again.
Special Agent in Charge.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Atlanta Field Office.
Calder’s hand lowered slowly.
The Black Man said:
“Now you understand why I told you to check it.”
Calder’s voice changed.
Not completely.
But enough.
“This could be fake.”
The Black Man closed his eyes for one second.
Then opened them.
“Call the field office.”
Calder looked around.
The people filming.
Traffic.
His junior Officer staring.
The shattered Lamborghini window.
A federal badge in his hand.
His voice rose again.
“Anybody can buy a badge online.”
The Black Man replied:
“Then verify it.”
Calder reached toward his radio.
Then stopped.
He looked at the younger Officer.
“Put him in the cruiser.”
The younger Officer did not move.
“Sergeant.”
“I said put him in the car.”
The Black Man spoke.
“Officer Miller.”