Riker leaned in closer, his face inches from the window frame. He took a deep theatrical sniff of the air inside the cabin. That's funny because I'm picking up the distinct odor of unburned marijuana. Nia's stomach tightened, but her face remained an unreadable mask. "That's impossible, officer.
I don't smoke, and no one has ever smoked in this car. My nose says different," Riker counted, stepping back and unhooking his radio. "Hayes, run these plates. I'm calling in Sergeant Kesler. We've got a probable cause search."
He looked back at Nia, his eyes cold and predatory. "Step out of the vehicle, Miss Caldwell." Now, by the time Sergeant David Kesler arrived 15 minutes later in a heavy-duty Chevy Tahoe interceptor, the shoulder of I-84 looked like a crime scene. Two cruisers had the McLaren boxed in, their strobes painting the trees in frantic bursts of neon. Nia sat quietly on the damp concrete of the highway barrier, her coat pulled tight against the biting Oregon night chill.
She watched as Kesler, a 20-year veteran with a reputation for aggressive civil asset forfeiture, swaggered out of his vehicle. Kesler was the kind of cop who operated entirely in the gray areas of the law. He had built his career on hunches that conveniently resulted in the seizure of millions of dollars in cash and property over the years, assets that frequently bypassed the courts, and went straight into the department's slush fund. Riker met Kesler halfway. Nia couldn't hear their exact words over the rushing wind of passing semi-trucks, but she could read the body language.
Riker was pointing at her, then at the car, gesturing wildly. Kesler was nodding, his eyes locked onto the McLaren with the hungry gleam of a man looking at a winning lottery ticket. They believed they had hooked a whale, a young black woman driving a hypercar in the middle of the night. In their prejudiced calculus, she couldn't possibly be a tech CEO. She had to be a highlevel mule for one of the West Coast syndicates moving drug money or crypto laundering hardware.
Kesler approached Nia, stopping just a few feet away. Miss Caldwell, I'm Sergeant Kesler. Officer Riker tells me he detected the odor of narcotics in your vehicle. Under the motor vehicle exception, that gives us the right to conduct a thorough search. I do not consent to any search of my vehicle, Nia said clearly.
Her voice cutting through the ambient highway noise. There are no drugs in that car. Officer Riker is lying, and you are violating my Fourth Amendment rights. Kesler's smile was entirely devoid of warmth. Consent isn't required, sweetheart.
Sit tight. The nightmare began. Riker and Hayes donned black nitrile gloves and began tossing the interior. They started with the basics. They ripped Nia's purse apart, dumping her wallet, her makeup, and her house keys onto the driver's seat.