Mitchell’s face reddened.
“Officer.”
Nolan continued.
“I didn’t personally see the return.”
“Stop talking.”
Nguyen stared at Mitchell.
“Why shouldn’t he talk?”
Mitchell looked around at the agents.
His breathing deepened.
“This is a local matter.”
Nguyen almost smiled.
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
One of the FBI technicians called from inside the Lamborghini.
“Ma’am.”
Nguyen turned.
The technician held up a small hard-shell module mounted beneath the dashboard.
Green light blinking.
“Continuous uplink remained active.”
Mitchell looked confused.
Derek did not.
Nguyen said:
“How much?”
“Everything.”
Silence.
The technician continued:
“Cabin audio.”
“Exterior side camera.”
“Rear camera.”
“Impact sensor triggered at fifteen forty-two and eleven seconds.”
“Automatic priority upload initiated immediately.”
Mitchell stared at Derek.
“What is this?”
Derek looked toward the shattered window.
Sunlight caught glass fragments across the leather.
Then he looked back at Mitchell.
“The Lamborghini is a federal undercover vehicle.”
Nolan’s mouth opened slightly.
Mitchell’s face changed.
Not merely fear.
Recognition.
Too much recognition.
Derek saw it.
So did Nguyen.
She asked:
“You know the car?”
Mitchell answered too quickly.
“No.”
Derek turned.
“You knew enough to call it stolen before running the plate.”
Mitchell’s jaw tightened.
“I know stolen vehicles.”
“This one isn’t stolen.”
“Then why does it have a shell-company registration?”
There.
Nobody moved.
Nolan stared at his sergeant.
Nguyen’s face became utterly unreadable.
Derek felt the entire case rearrange itself.
He said:
“How did you know the registration was held by a shell company?”
Mitchell realized.
He looked toward the cruiser.
Too late.
Derek stepped closer.
“You said you hadn’t run the plate.”
Mitchell said nothing.
Nguyen looked toward one of her agents.
“Secure both patrol-car computers.”
Mitchell took a step forward.
“You can’t seize department equipment.”
Nguyen held up a hand.
The federal agents moved.
Mitchell’s voice rose.
“Hey.”
Nolan did not interfere.
One agent opened the patrol cruiser.
Another photographed the mobile terminal before touching anything.
Mitchell looked toward Nolan.
“Do something.”
Nolan met his eyes.
“No.”
Mitchell laughed once.
Disbelieving.
“You’re finished.”
Nolan’s face went pale.
Derek heard the threat.
Everyone did.
Nguyen did not react.
She did not need to.
A federal public-corruption case had spent eleven months searching for proof that somebody inside Bellmont-area law enforcement was accessing confidential vehicle information outside authorized systems.
Wade Mitchell had just threatened a subordinate in front of seven federal agents while explaining a detail he should not have known.
The shattered Lamborghini suddenly mattered less than the sentence.
Derek looked at Mitchell.
“You thought you were interrupting my operation.”
Mitchell stared.
Derek’s voice remained low.
“You weren’t.”
Wind moved between them.
“You were the operation.”
Mitchell’s face finally broke.
Not dramatically.
No confession.
No collapse.
Only the smallest loss of certainty.