The deputy slapped the driver's license out of the Black woman's hand so hard that it skidded across the gravel shoulder and disappeared beneath the open door of her luxury sedan.
"Four thousand dollars. Cash. Or I take the car."
His voice carried across the empty stretch of Georgia highway, where the late-afternoon sun hung low over miles of pine trees and dry summer grass. Two sheriff's patrol vehicles stood behind the dark burgundy sedan, their emergency lights flashing silently against the road. Beyond them, the countryside stretched toward a distant intersection where trucks occasionally passed without slowing.
The woman didn't move.
She was thirty-six years old, an extraordinarily beautiful Black American woman with flawless deep-brown skin, a statuesque feminine figure, and long, thick, dark curly hair falling over her shoulders. She wore oversized black designer sunglasses, an immaculate fitted white cropped top featuring a small black alien-face graphic, and an unusual pair of low-rise pale-gray designer trousers with a sweeping floor-length silhouette. Elaborate silver-gray ruffles cascaded down the front of the trousers, forming long sculptural strips that moved gently in the roadside breeze.
Stacks of broad, polished silver bracelets covered both wrists, catching the sunlight every time she moved her hands. Her carefully styled outfit looked as though it belonged at an exclusive fashion event rather than on the shoulder of a rural highway. Beneath the delicate fabric, her slender feet rested inside minimalist silver sandals almost hidden by the trailing ruffles.
She looked at the license beneath the car.
Then slowly raised her head.
"Four thousand dollars for what?"
The deputy gave a contemptuous laugh.
"Don't play stupid with me."
He was fifty-two, white American, with short sandy-blond hair, mirrored aviator sunglasses, and the heavy build of a man who had spent years confusing his uniform with unquestionable authority. His tan sheriff's shirt was stretched tightly across his stomach, his duty belt hung low at his waist, and a gold-colored badge gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
He held her vehicle registration in one hand.
His other hand rested on the open driver's door.
"Your vehicle has been flagged for suspected fraudulent registration. I can settle the administrative violation here, or I can have the car seized."
The woman looked toward the patrol vehicle.
Then back at him.