And nodded approvingly.
"Looks like they did a good job."
Camille smiled faintly.
"That's what the repair report says."
Samuel laughed.
"Well, you know I don't trust a report until I've seen the work."
She smiled more fully.
That was her father.
He'd spent his life teaching her that careful inspection mattered.
And now, after the most difficult professional transition she'd ever experienced, he was standing beside her repaired Bentley with the same pride he'd shown when she first purchased it.
Samuel looked toward her.
"You ready to drive?"
Camille hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah."
He smiled.
"Good."
For a moment, she looked toward the driver's door.
Then she opened it.
The movement was ordinary.
A hand reaching for a door handle.
A door swinging outward.
But after months of associating the Bentley with humiliation, the simple act felt unexpectedly meaningful.
Camille entered the car.
Then leaned across to unlock the passenger door.
"Come on, Dad."
Samuel grinned.
"Where are we going?"
She smiled.
"Anywhere you want."
They drove through the outskirts of Hawthorne County.
The afternoon sunlight stretched across the road, illuminating fields, small businesses, and neighborhoods Camille remembered from childhood.
Samuel sat comfortably in the passenger seat, occasionally pointing toward places that had changed over the years.
A grocery store where he once purchased parts had become a restaurant.
An old gas station had been demolished.
And a quiet residential street now contained several new houses.
Camille listened.
For the first time in months, she wasn't thinking about incident reports, financial records, or department policy.
She was simply driving with her father.
Eventually, Samuel asked her to turn toward the county park.
They stopped beside a small lake where he used to bring her and her brother on summer weekends.
Camille parked beneath a tree.
For several minutes, they sat watching sunlight reflect across the water.
Then Samuel looked toward her.
"You know what bothered me most about that video?"
Camille turned.
"The windows?"
He shook his head.
"No."
She waited.
Samuel looked toward the lake.
"It was the way that deputy seemed to believe you owed him an explanation for having something nice."
Camille felt her expression soften.
Her father continued.
"I spent my life fixing cars. I watched people save for years to buy something they loved. Some bought old pickups. Some bought expensive sedans. Some just needed a vehicle to get their children to school."
He paused.
"Nobody should be treated like a thief because somebody else can't imagine them owning what they've earned."
Camille looked toward the steering wheel.
For a moment, she felt tears gathering.
Then she nodded.
"I know."
Samuel turned toward her.
"And I want you to remember something else."
She looked up.
He smiled gently.