It was a calculated microaggression designed to strip away Devon's dignity and provoke a reaction. "I haven't been drinking, officer," Devon answered, refusing to take the bait. "And I came to a complete 3-second stop at the intersection. Are you calling me a liar?" Ford's voice dropped an octave, the hostility rising to the surface.
He leaned closer to the window, his eyes darting around the pristine leather interior of the McLaren. "License, registration, and proof of insurance. Now." "My license is in my wallet in my back right pocket," Devon said, clearly narrating his movements exactly as he had been taught. "The registration and insurance are in the glove compartment.
I am going to reach for my wallet now. Is that all right with you, officer?" Ford's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to this level of composed procedural defiance. Usually the people he intimidated were stammering, defensive, or angry.
Devon's robotic compliance unnerved him, making him feel like he was the one being managed. "Just get the damn ID and move slow." Ford snapped. Devon slowly shifted his weight, pulling his wallet from his pocket, and extracting his California driver's license. He handed it through the window.
Then he slowly leaned over, popped the glove box, and retrieved the leather binder containing the registration and insurance. He handed those over as well. Ford snatched the documents from Devon's hand. He glanced at the license. Devon Whitfield.
The name didn't ring any bells for Ford, who looked at the registration. Apex Holdings LLC. "So, Devon." Ford sneered, slapping the papers against his palm. "Whose car is this, because it sure as hell isn't yours?" "It belongs to my father, officer."
Devon replied smoothly. "The LLC is a holding company for his private assets." Ford let out a harsh laugh. "Your father, huh?" "What does your daddy do, Devon?"
"Sell pharmaceuticals on the street corner?" "Or is he a rapper?" Devon's jaw tightened. A flash of pure righteous anger spiked in his chest, but he forced it down. One wrong word, one sudden movement, and this officer would have the justification he was desperately fishing for.
"My father is a public servant, officer." Devon said, keeping his tone perfectly neutral. A public servant, Ford mocked stepping back from the car. Right, listen to me very carefully Devon. I smell marijuana coming from this vehicle.