She stared at it in the driveway.
“This is ugly.”
“It is reliable.”
“The color is beige.”
“Champagne.”
“It’s old-man gold.”
“Respect the vehicle.”
She walked around it.
“Is there a tracker?”
“Yes.”
“Dad.”
“You are sixteen.”
“Is it FBI?”
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“Probably not.”
She stared.
“Mom would’ve bought me something better.”
“Your mother drove a twelve-year-old Corolla when we met.”
“That’s because you were poor.”
“We were efficient.”
“You were poor.”
“Get in the car.”
Ava did.
Then she became quiet.
“What?”
Derek asked.
“If I get stopped?”
His smile disappeared.
He had known the question would come.
Still not ready.
They sat inside the Civic.
He went through the practical things.
License.
Registration.
Hands visible.
Interior light at night.
Pull over safely.
No sudden reaching.
She listened.
Then:
“But I can ask why they stopped me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Legally.”
“Yes.”
“Should I?”
Derek hated that question.
Not because of law.
Because law and survival did not always occupy the same emotional space.
“You have the right to ask.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
He looked at her.
She had Danielle’s eyes.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
Derek took a breath.
“The truth is sometimes you may decide being right in the moment is less important than getting somewhere safe enough to challenge it later.”
Ava stared ahead.
“That sucks.”
“Yes.”
“What if they think the car is stolen because I’m Black?”
“They may.”
“What if I tell them my dad is FBI?”
Derek looked toward her.
“Only if you need to.”
“Why not right away?”
“Because I don’t want your safety depending on borrowed authority from me.”
Ava smiled faintly.
“That sounds like a speech.”
“It is.”
She touched the steering wheel.
“Did Grandpa teach you this?”
Derek nodded.
“Some.”
“Did you listen?”
“Not enough.”
She smiled.
“Obviously.”
He laughed.
Then reached into the glove compartment.
Registration.
Insurance.
Emergency card.
He had put everything in a transparent pouch.
Ava rolled her eyes.
“You laminated it?”
“No.”
“You wanted to.”
“Yes.”
They drove.
Slowly.
Terribly.
Ava nearly murdered three traffic cones.
Derek missed undercover operations.
Briefly.
Three years after the case, the Lamborghini left federal service.
Asset management scheduled it for auction.
Nguyen sent Derek the notice.
SUBJECT: YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS LEAVING.
He replied:
SHE WAS HIGH MAINTENANCE.
Nguyen:
YOU CRIED WHEN THEY REPLACED HER.
Derek: