"Shut it," Miller snapped, pushing Vance forcefully against the booking counter. "I ask the questions here."
The precinct grew quiet as Miller began the search. When his gloved hand reached into the charcoal jacket, his fingers brushed against cold leather and heavy metal. He pulled out a black leather wallet and flipped it open.
A gold shield caught the harsh overhead light. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Next to it, an ID card bore Vance’s stoic face.
Miller paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes, but his ego quickly suffocated his common sense. The rookie cops nearby were watching. He couldn't back down now. He let out a harsh, dismissive laugh, tossing the badge onto the metal counter where it slid with a sharp clatter.
"You think you can buy a fake badge online and scare me off?" Miller sneered, his voice echoing in the stale air. "I've seen better fakes from teenagers."
"That is a federally issued credential," Vance replied, his posture remaining perfectly straight. "If you run the serial number, you will find I am a Senior Special Agent. I am currently in the middle of an active, multi-agency operation. Uncuff me."
Instead of listening, Miller’s face flushed with anger. He grabbed Vance by the arm, dragging him toward the wooden bench attached to the wall. With a sharp metallic clack, Miller locked a second set of handcuffs to the iron ring on the bench, securing Vance’s wrist to the wall.