The video showed the Taurus driving in a perfectly straight line for five continuous miles. The rain lashed against the windshield, but the car never once drifted over the yellow line.
O'Grady's smirk faltered. He uncrossed his arms. "What is this? Where did you get this footage?"
"Please hold your questions until the end of the presentation," Carter said smoothly.
The video continued. The flashing red and blue lights of O'Grady's cruiser reflected in the Taurus's rear window. Cynthia's voice, crisp and clear, filled the interrogation room as the vehicle's high-fidelity hidden microphones picked up her steady breathing. The footage showed her pulling over perfectly onto the gravel shoulder, placing the car in park, and resting her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.
"Okay, so she got lucky for a few miles," O'Grady scoffed, though a bead of sweat was beginning to form at his hairline. "That doesn't prove anything. Anybody can rig a dashcam."
Carter ignored him. The video on the wall shifted. It split into a quad-screen display, showing four different angles simultaneously: the driver's perspective, the passenger side, the rear, and a direct shot of the driver's side window.
The room watched as the recorded version of O'Grady approached the car. The audio captured his aggressive tone perfectly.
"License and registration," the recorded O'Grady barked, shining the blinding flashlight.
They watched Cynthia hand over her documents. They watched O'Grady order her out of the vehicle.
Then came the moment of truth.
As the recorded Cynthia stood outside in the rain, facing the roof of the car, the camera focused on O'Grady leaning into the driver's side door. Because the FBI's technical division had installed a covert wide-angle lens specifically designed to monitor the vehicle's interior blind spots, there was no place for O'Grady to hide.
In staggering 4K resolution, the video showed O'Grady checking the glovebox, then sliding his right hand into the deep pocket of his yellow rain slicker.
Captain Miller inhaled sharply, taking a step closer to the projected image.
The video zoomed in automatically—a feature of the Bureau's forensic playback software. It clearly showed O'Grady's fingers pulling a transparent plastic bag containing a white, rock-like substance out of his own pocket. It showed him deliberately dropping it onto the floor mat directly beneath the driver's seat.
"Well, well, well," the recorded O'Grady sneered, pulling his head out of the car. "What do we have here?"
The interrogation room was locked in a suffocating graveyard silence. The only sound was the hum of the precinct's air conditioning and the heavy, ragged breathing of Officer O'Grady.
"That—that's fake," O'Grady stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the wall. "That's doctored. You Kirkland & Ellis lawyers think you can come in here with doctored AI trash? I know guys who can make fake videos. That's not what happened."
Carter tapped the tablet again. The video paused, freezing on a frame of O'Grady's hand holding the bag of drugs right next to his own nametag.