“You just slammed the door of a one-off prototype worth $410,000, a model that will not reach the market for at least eight more months.” No one dared breathe. The officer swallowed hard. “Business cards can be faked,” he muttered. Lucien raised an eyebrow.
“Would you prefer to call the showroom to verify, or perhaps the chief of police directly?” A voice from the crowd shouted, “I just searched his name. It’s real—a Forbes 30 Under 30 cover story and Black Enterprise last year.” By now, even the younger officer looked shaken. “I think maybe there has been a misunderstanding,” he stammered.
But Lucien turned to him, voice steady as stone. “There was no misunderstanding. You knew exactly what you were seeing: a Black man in a car too expensive to be believable, and that was enough.” The circle of onlookers erupted in applause, gasps, and murmurs of disbelief. Not because they were surprised, but because finally someone had enough power to refuse to bow, while the murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind over a restless sea.
Lucien stood still, his blazer still creased from the earlier search, but his presence had regained its familiar sharpness. He didn't need to shout, didn't need to rage. He simply pulled out his phone, opened his contacts, and made a call. A short ring, then the line picked up.
“Detective Rivera, this is Lucien. Send someone to the Orum Drive showroom immediately.” He didn't need to explain. Just his name was enough. Then he looked up at the officer still holding his business card like it might ignite at any moment.
“There will be an internal investigation, and this time no one is slipping away.” The older officer forced a smile. “You don’t have enough influence to—” Before he could finish, Lucien cut him off. “I own this entire showroom chain. My company built the patrol fleet parked outside and holds the city contract that recently approved the purchase of 38 electric patrol vehicles.”
The officer's face turned pale. A voice in the crowd whispered, “What? The city gets its cars from Darnell Automotive?” Another murmured, “It’s true. They even sponsored that youth education fund last quarter.”
Lucien flipped his phone screen and held it up. “This is the executive-level internal clearance for prototype use.” “And this,” he said, swiping to another file, “is the official contract with the city; this model is part of a grant initiative to advance urban-security vehicle development.” The crowd fell completely silent. All eyes were locked on the phone in his hand, now a living testament to an undeniable truth.