Naomi considered it.
Then she dictated something short.
"My rank did not make the temporary license valid. The state issued it validly before the stop. My military status did not make the property damage wrong. The conduct was wrong when it happened. The evidence should be examined without relying on a hidden-status narrative."
Janelle read the statement back.
"Are you happy with that?"
Naomi nodded.
"Yes."
"People may still prefer the dramatic version."
"I know."
"Does that bother you?"
Naomi looked toward the photograph of her parents.
"Yes."
Then she smiled tiredly.
"But accurate records aren't supposed to depend on whether they're entertaining."
The first public hearing concerning the towing contract took place in a crowded county meeting room.
Isaiah attended with Naomi.
Tessa Price sat beside them.
Megan Shaw had been invited to provide information through a protected process but did not appear publicly at that stage.
The hearing was not a criminal trial.
Its purpose was to examine contracting procedures, complaint handling, and the county's response to the audit.
Residents filled the seats.
Some carried folders.
Others held photographs of vehicles.
A few had brought children because they could not arrange childcare.
The county board chair opened the meeting.
"We are here to understand whether our towing procedures have served the public fairly and whether corrective action is necessary."
A man in the audience muttered, "About time."
The chair continued.
Residents were allowed to speak.
The first was a middle-aged white electrician named Randall Hayes.
He approached the microphone wearing work boots and a faded plaid shirt.
"My truck got towed over registration paperwork," he said. "The registration was current. I proved it. But I still had to fight to get my tools back."
He held up a folder.
"I missed four days of work. Nobody paid me for that."
The chair asked whether he had submitted his documents to the review panel.
"Three times."
A clerk confirmed receipt.
Randall nodded.
"Good. Then maybe somebody can finally tell me where the money went."
He stepped away.
Next came Sandra Alvarez.
She wore navy medical scrubs and looked exhausted.
She described being stopped after changing her legal name.
Her temporary credential was valid.
The underlying charge was dismissed.
But the tow left her struggling to arrange transportation for hospital shifts.
"I had patients depending on me," she said.
Her voice trembled.
"I spent hours on the phone proving I was allowed to drive. I could've been spending that time caring for people."
She looked toward the board.
"I don't need anyone to treat me as special. I need the rules to mean what they say."
Naomi watched from her seat.
The words stayed with her.
Sandra had no military rank.
No famous title.
No expensive lawyer at the time of the stop.
Yet her experience demanded the same seriousness.