When the Bugatti was finally loaded, Nia stood beside it.
The windshield looked destroyed.
Front carbon trim scratched where the hammer glanced.
One mirror damaged.
Driver door gouged from attempts to force access.
The car had been worth $3.2 million that morning.
By evening, restoration specialists estimated repairs might exceed $380,000 before hidden structural inspection.
Voss stood beside her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“That answer is useless.”
She looked at car.
“My father loved this thing.”
“I know.”
“He’d kill me for driving through Cedar.”
“No.”
“He’d kill the sergeant.”
“Also possible.”
She laughed once.
Then anger returned.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah.”
“Danner arrived six minutes after call.”
“I heard.”
“Rotation contract?”
“Don’t.”
“I know.”
“You are victim.”
“I know.”
“You cannot work this now.”
“I know.”
“Say it without looking like you’re planning five subpoenas.”
She looked.
“I am victim.”
“And?”
“I will not participate in investigative decisions.”
“Good.”
“I can answer questions and provide evidence.”
“Yes.”
“I can tell you what I already know from prior work if documented before incident.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot use my victim status to direct.”
“Correct.”
She hated it.
Which was why it was right.
Voss put hand lightly on her shoulder.
“We have it.”
“Do you?”
“We had it before.”
“Now we have more.”
Nia looked at Bugatti.
“That is an expensive way to get more.”
“Government won’t reimburse your father’s sentimental attachment.”
“Don’t remind.”
The field office placed her on administrative separation from Cedar investigation.
Not leave from FBI.
She continued other cases.
Her personal attorney handled property claim.
Another agent became case coordinator.
Special Agent Lena Morris.
Black woman.
Forty-one.
Former accountant.
Almost offensively patient.
Morris called the next morning.
“I need your formal witness statement.”
Nia groaned.
“I already gave preliminary.”
“I need recorded.”
“When?”
“Two.”
“I have meeting.”
“Move it.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
At two, Nia sat on the wrong side of interview table.
She hated it.
Morris smiled.
“State your full name.”
“You know.”
“Record doesn’t care.”
Nia answered.
Morris walked every second.
Where she was coming from.
Why in Cedar.
Whether she knew Mercer personally.
No.
Halbrook?
Only from records.
Danner?
From investigation, no personal contact.
Did she intentionally drive Bugatti to provoke a seizure?
“No.”
Did anyone in FBI instruct her to?
“No.”
Did she know Cedar deputies had plate-reader alert associated with her vehicle?
“No.”
That question made her pause.