Samuel shook his head gently.
"Let her sit."
Camille lowered herself into a chair.
Her long sage-green skirt spread around her legs, and the little yellow bag rested on the table beside a bowl of fruit.
Her mother brought water.
Then sat across from her.
Camille explained the encounter.
The vague vehicle-theft report.
The refusal to verify.
The shattered windows.
The shove.
And the tow truck that arrived even though dispatch hadn't confirmed any crime involving the Bentley.
Denise listened without interrupting.
When Camille finished, her mother looked toward Samuel.
His jaw was tight.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then asked, "Did you tell the deputy who you are?"
Camille nodded.
"I gave my name and license."
"Did you tell him you're about to become sheriff?"
She hesitated.
"No."
Samuel frowned.
"Why not?"
Camille looked down.
For a moment, she considered the question more deeply than she had during the incident.
Then answered.
"Because I wanted him to verify the car instead of deciding whether I was important enough to believe."
Her father remained quiet.
She continued.
"If he'd checked the registration, the encounter could have ended peacefully. My future title had nothing to do with whether he had grounds to smash my windows."
Samuel nodded slowly.
He understood the principle.
But he was still her father.
And the thought of an officer hurting his daughter made him furious.
Finally, he said, "You shouldn't have had to prove anything beyond what was necessary."
Camille looked toward him.
He continued.
"You don't need to be sheriff for your car to belong to you."
She felt tears rising again.
"Exactly."
Her father reached across the table.
And took her hand.
At ten-thirty, Camille prepared to leave for headquarters.
Her mother offered to help her change into a formal suit.
Camille declined.
The midnight gathering wasn't a public ceremony.
It was a scheduled command transition, and her formal uniform fitting would occur the following morning.
She had the necessary identification and appointment documentation.
She also knew how much attention her clothing attracted.
But after the encounter with Voss, she made a deliberate decision.
She would arrive wearing the same clothes.
The cropped olive-gray jacket.
The black-and-white striped high-neck crop top.
The sage-green cargo maxi skirt.
The chunky white-and-gray sneakers.
And the bright-yellow triangular handbag.
She wasn't trying to embarrass the deputy.
She wanted the officers at the briefing to confront a simple reality.
The woman Voss had dismissed because he didn't believe she belonged beside an expensive car was the same person the county had chosen to lead their department.
Her professional authority didn't alter the facts of the earlier encounter.
But it would expose the assumptions behind his reaction.
Denise watched her adjust the jacket.
"You're sure you don't want to change?"
Camille looked toward the mirror.