"On what basis?" she asked.
"Investigative purposes. I'm not satisfied that the stop is fully resolved."
"You just told me the plate comes back clean, no stolen report. My license, registration, and insurance are all valid. What specifically remains unresolved?"
His jaw tightened. "The model still matches the description we received."
"You said 'similar.' And a similar description isn't legal grounds for a search."
The word "legal" landed somewhere in his expression, and she watched it land. She had seen that response before—in courtrooms, in depositions, in the hallways of buildings where people with authority suddenly realized the person in front of them was fluent in the same language they thought belonged only to them.
The response was always the same: a brief flash of something that wasn't quite anger yet, but was moving steadily in that direction.
"Ma'am, I'm asking you to cooperate with a lawful investigation."
"I have cooperated fully. I have provided every document you requested. The database confirms my ownership. I'm asking what legal basis justifies a search of my property."
"Your attitude is making this more complicated than it needs to be."
She looked at him for a long moment. Her voice did not change. "My attitude is to ask questions. That's not an attitude. That's a right."