The sheriff's deputy raised his black baton and smashed the passenger window of the sixty-thousand-dollar door on a Rolls-Royce Cullinan worth more than four hundred thousand dollars.
Glass exploded across the gravel shoulder.
The sound echoed through the pine trees lining the deserted Georgia county road.
A beautiful Black woman stood pressed against the side of the vehicle, her hands held behind her, her expression remarkably calm despite the heavyset officer gripping her upper arm.
The deputy laughed as fragments of glass fell against the polished black paint.
"That's what happens when you think your money makes you untouchable."
The woman slowly turned her head toward him.
She was thirty-five years old, extraordinarily beautiful, with flawless deep-brown skin, delicate features, captivating eyes, and naturally full lips. Her black hair was pulled into a sleek low bun, revealing elegant gold hoop earrings that glittered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
She wore an exquisite strapless olive-green designer gown.
The fabric was ribbed and beautifully tailored, fitted closely around her waist before expanding into an extraordinary rounded, voluminous skirt that reached almost to the gravel.
Multiple thick gold bracelets encircled her wrists.
She looked as though she'd stepped out of an exclusive Manhattan fashion presentation.
Not like someone who should be standing beside a shattered luxury vehicle on an isolated rural road.
The deputy didn't care.
He was fifty-eight years old, bald, broad, heavyset, and accustomed to using his size to intimidate people. His tan sheriff's uniform stretched across his stomach, while a gold badge and black shoulder patches identified him as a senior deputy in the county.
His name was known throughout the surrounding communities.
So was his temper.
People who lived along this road knew better than to argue with him.
He had spent thirty-one years wearing a badge, and somewhere along the way, he'd begun treating that badge as though it made him the final authority over everyone he encountered.
Now he leaned toward the woman's face.
"You got something smart to say?"
She looked at the fractured window.
Then at the baton in his right hand.
"You're going to regret doing that."
The deputy laughed.
"Lady, there ain't a judge in this county who's going to care about your fancy car."
He shoved her more firmly against the door.
Her gold bracelets struck the paint with a soft metallic sound.
She winced but didn't cry out.
"You're hurting my arm," she said.
"Then stop giving me trouble."
He released her only long enough to gesture toward the broken window.