He had changed his mind at the last minute.
He needed medicine for her grandmother.
Nia had volunteered.
She had made a mistake.
But a mistake was not theft.
"Where did you get the car tonight?" Rusk asked.
"From my father's garage."
"Did he give you the keys?"
"Yes."
"Anyone else have access?"
"I don't know."
"Who else lives with you?"
"My grandmother."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
Rusk looked toward Price.
"Call it in as suspicious possession."
Nia's head lifted.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"The registration proves who owns the car."
"It proves whose name is on the registration."
"And the VIN matches."
Rusk's eyes narrowed.
"You're very confident for a sixteen-year-old."
Nia didn't answer.
She had learned long ago that confidence made certain people uncomfortable.
Especially when it came from someone they expected to intimidate.
Then Rusk said something that made her heart sink.
"Turn around."
"Why?"
"You're being detained."
"For what?"
"Possible possession of stolen property."
Nia stared at him.
"You haven't established that the car is stolen."
"The report says it is."
"Then maybe you should verify the report."
Rusk stepped forward.
"Turn around."
Nia slowly obeyed.
Cold metal closed around her wrists.
The handcuffs were tight.
She looked toward the pharmacy.
People were watching through the glass.
A little boy pressed his face against the window.
His mother pulled him away.
Nia took a breath.
She didn't cry.
Instead, she memorized the time.
9:31 p.m.
She memorized the officer's name.
Daniel Rusk.
Then she memorized his badge number.
And finally, she whispered to herself:
"Remember everything."
At the Bellmont Police Station, Nia was placed in a small interview room.
A wall clock showed 9:58.
Detective Martin Vale entered carrying a paper folder.
He was older than Rusk, perhaps fifty, with gray hair and tired eyes.
He sat across from her.
"You know why you're here?"
"Because an officer believes my father's car was stolen."
"That's one version."
"What is yours?"
Vale studied her.
"You don't seem frightened."
"I am."
"You're hiding it well."
"I was taught to stay calm."
"By your father?"
"Yes."
Vale opened the folder.
"Adrian Carter."
Nia's expression changed.
"What about him?"
"He's an interesting man."
"How?"
"His employment history is unusual."
Nia said nothing.
Vale looked at her.
"Do you know what your father actually does?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Security consulting."
"That's all?"
"That's what he calls it."
Vale leaned back.
"Your father has worked for federal agencies."
Nia remained silent.
"Defense contractors."
Silence.
"International corporations."
Still silence.
Vale closed the folder.
"You're not surprised."
"My father doesn't talk about his clients."
Vale nodded slowly.
"That's probably wise."
He stood.
"Do you want to call him?"
"Yes."
"We've tried."
"Try again."
Vale picked up the phone.
He dialed.
Voicemail.
He hung up.
"Again."
"Miss Carter—"
"Again."
Vale stared at her for several seconds.
Then he dialed.
This time, the call rang longer.
No answer.
Nia leaned back.
Something wasn't right.
Her father always answered.
Always.
Unless he was somewhere he couldn't use his phone.
She looked at the clock.
10:11.
Then Vale's phone rang.
He answered.
"Detective Vale."
A pause.
His face changed.
"What?"
Another pause.
"You're certain?"
He listened.
"Understood."
He hung up.
Nia watched him.
"What happened?"
Vale didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
"The original theft report has been withdrawn."
Nia blinked.
"What?"
"The vehicle isn't listed as stolen."
"Then can I go home?"
Vale looked at the folder.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because the officer who made the stop claims he received information from an outside source that the vehicle was connected to an organized theft operation."
Nia stared at him.
"And is it?"
"We don't know."
"But you know it's not stolen."
"Yes."
"Then why am I still here?"
Vale didn't answer.
That was when Nia understood.
This was no longer about the Lamborghini.
Someone had wanted the car stopped.
Someone had wanted her questioned.
And someone had known enough about her father to make sure the police would take the bait.
At 10:23 p.m., Officer Price returned to the parking lot.
The Lamborghini was still there.
She walked around it slowly.
Something bothered her.
She had seen the registration.
She had run the VIN.
Everything was legitimate.
Yet Rusk remained convinced something was wrong.
Price wasn't so sure.
She returned to the station and checked the original dispatch information.
The suspicious-vehicle call had come through an anonymous source.
No name.
No callback number.
No recording.
Only a brief description:
"Silver Lamborghini, young Black female driver, possibly connected to vehicle theft."
Price stared at the screen.
The words bothered her.
Not because the description was inaccurate.
Because it was too specific.
Someone had known exactly who was driving.