"Three thousand eight hundred."
The older deputy whistled.
"That's a lot of money for a man driving through the county."
"I'm helping my daughter repair her house."
"Sure."
Samuel looked at the older deputy.
"Is there some reason you're searching my vehicle?"
"We'll ask the questions."
Samuel nodded.
There was no point arguing.
He had spent decades learning that people often revealed more when you gave them room to talk.
The older deputy looked at the documents.
"What's this?"
"My daughter's contractor agreement."
"And this?"
"Bank receipt."
The deputy looked at Samuel's driver's license again.
"You retired?"
"Yes."
"From what?"
"State government."
"What department?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Public safety."
The older deputy's eyes narrowed.
"Police?"
"Investigation."
"What kind?"
"Several."
The deputy laughed.
"That's convenient."
Samuel said nothing.
The younger officer walked around the vehicle again.
Then he opened the passenger door.
"There's something here."
He pulled out an old leather case.
Samuel immediately recognized it.
He had forgotten it was still in the car.
The case contained a badge.
Not his current identification.
An old retirement badge.
The younger deputy held it up.
"What's this?"
Samuel looked at it.
"Something I should have left at home."
The older deputy took it.
He examined the badge.
Then he looked at Samuel.
"You expect me to believe you're some kind of investigator?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything."
The deputy stepped closer.
"You know what I think?"
Samuel remained silent.
"I think old men like you collect things."
The younger deputy laughed.
The older one tossed the badge back into the car.
"Get your things."
Samuel looked at him.
"Am I free to go?"
The deputy smiled.
"Not yet."
Samuel understood then.
This was no longer about traffic.
Something had changed.
The question was what.
And more importantly—
why.
Samuel had spent thirty-seven years answering questions like that.
But today, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't carrying a badge that mattered.
He was carrying something far more dangerous.
Memory.
And someone on that roadside had just made the mistake of assuming an old man had forgotten how to use it.
The older deputy stepped closer.
"Tell me exactly why you're carrying nearly four thousand dollars."
"I already did."
"Tell me again."
"I'm helping my daughter."
"What does she do?"
"She's a teacher."
"Where?"
"Bellweather Middle School."
The deputy glanced at his partner.
Something passed between them.
Samuel noticed.
He noticed everything.
The younger deputy suddenly looked uncomfortable.
The older deputy didn't.
"All right," he said. "We'll let you go."
Samuel blinked.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
The envelope was returned to him.
Samuel put it inside his jacket.
The older deputy leaned closer.
"Drive carefully."
Samuel looked into his eyes.
"I always do."
He got back into his car.
He closed the door.
Started the engine.
Pulled onto the highway.
And didn't look back.
But as soon as the cruiser disappeared behind him, Samuel reached for his phone.
He dialed a number he hadn't called in six years.
The person on the other end answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
Samuel stared through the windshield.
"It's Samuel Carter."
Silence.
Then a surprised voice.
"Sam?"
"Yes."
"I thought you were retired."
"I am."
"Then why are you calling?"
Samuel glanced at the clock.
"Because I just got stopped outside Bellweather."
Another silence.
"What happened?"
Samuel lowered his voice.
"They took my money out of the car."
"Did they return it?"
"Yes."
"Then what's wrong?"
Samuel's eyes narrowed.
"They knew my daughter's name."
The line went silent.
And this time, neither man spoke for several seconds.
Because there was only one way the deputies could have known that.
Someone had told them.
And someone had been watching Samuel long before he ever reached the highway.
The person Samuel had called was Daniel Reeves.
Twenty years earlier, Daniel had been Samuel's partner.