Captain Miller suddenly appeared in the doorway, pushing past Carter's security detail. "What the hell is going on in here? O'Grady, who are these people?"
"Her lawyers, Captain," O'Grady said defensively. "They just barged into a restricted area."
"I didn't barge," Carter said, looking at Captain Miller. "Your front desk was quite accommodating once I showed them my credentials."
"I don't care what firm you're from," Miller barked. "Your client is in police custody. You have five minutes with her, and then she is being transferred to county."
Carter pulled a sleek silver tablet from his briefcase. He tapped the screen twice.
"She won't be going to county, Captain Miller," Carter said, his voice dropping into a register that sent a sudden, inexplicable chill through the room. "In fact, she won't be going anywhere. But I strongly suggest you and Officer O'Grady take a seat. We have a short film to watch."
O'Grady looked at Doyle. Doyle looked at Miller.
Cynthia Holloway finally smiled. It was not a warm smile.
"You really should sit down, Officer O'Grady," Cynthia said, the facade of the frightened victim vanishing completely. "You're about to be the star of the show."
Captain Miller's face flushed with anger. He wasn't used to being given orders in his own precinct, let alone by a man in a bespoke suit who refused to identify his firm.
"Listen to me very carefully," Miller warned, his voice echoing in the small concrete room. "I don't care if you're a senior partner at Kirkland & Ellis or the ghost of Clarence Darrow. You are interfering with an active police investigation. I will have you arrested for obstruction if you don't pack up that toy and leave my building right now."
James Carter did not flinch. He didn't even look at the captain. Instead, he swiped a finger across the silver tablet, pulling up a media player interface.
"Officer O'Grady," Carter said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "In your official incident report, which you filed under penalty of perjury roughly an hour ago, you claimed my client was swerving erratically on Interstate 55. Is that correct?"
"That's what happened," O'Grady spat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I saw it. Doyle saw it when he backed me up. It's in the report."
Carter tapped the screen.
The tablet illuminated, projecting a high-definition video onto the blank white wall opposite the two-way mirror. The footage was breathtakingly clear, captured in ultra-high resolution with military-grade night-vision enhancement. It showed the interior of Cynthia's rental Ford Taurus. The camera angle was positioned seamlessly from the rearview mirror, capturing a wide 360-degree view of the cabin, the dashboard, and the dark highway stretching out through the windshield.
In the bottom right corner, a digital overlay displayed the exact GPS coordinates, a timestamp, and the vehicle's real-time telemetry:
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Speed: 55 mph
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Lane deviation: 0%
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Steering angle: 0°