"That seal means something," Nathan said. "You break it, there's a record of that. A permanent one."
Bruce didn't even turn around. "I don't answer to a truck driver."
"I'm not asking you to answer to me. I'm telling you what happens next."
Bruce laughed. And it wasn't a real laugh; it was the kind men like him used to remind you who was in charge. "You know what I love about guys like you? Always got some rule to quote, some regulation." He turned around now, slow, savoring it. "Out here on this road, I am the regulation."
Langston had drifted closer, close enough to hear everything. His hand kept twitching toward his radio and then falling back to his side, like he couldn't decide if this was worth calling in.
"Sarge," he said low, "maybe we should wait for backup before—"
"Before what?" Bruce snapped, not even looking at him. "Before I do my job? You worry about your own paperwork, rookie, and let me handle mine."
Nathan watched the exchange and understood something in that moment: Langston wasn't going to stop this. He was scared of Bruce—maybe more scared of him than anything a truck driver could say. That left one option.
"I want it on record," Nathan said, loud enough for the dashcam, loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. "I am not consenting to this search. This trailer is under federal seal. Breaking it without cause is a violation of law."
"Noted," Bruce said, and snapped the bolt cutters onto the seal like it was nothing more than a piece of string.
"You do that," Nathan said, "and there's no walking it back."
"I've told you three times now, and I've told you zero times that I care." Bruce's voice rose sharp and hard, carrying over the traffic noise. "You know what your problem is? You think because you got a clean logbook and a nice little camera blinking up there, that makes you untouchable. Let me tell you something, boy." He leaned in close enough that Nathan could smell coffee on his breath. "Ain't nothing about you untouchable. Had a guy just like you two weeks back. Mouthy. Thought the rules applied to him, too. Cost him a lot more than $500 by the time I was done."
The word landed like a slap. Not the threat—the pattern behind it. This wasn't the first time; it wouldn't be the last, either, if nobody stopped him today.