"No," she agreed. "It doesn't."
He stared at her. The air between them was very still. Somewhere on the opposite shoulder, a phone camera was still raised.
"What's on that drive?"
"You destroyed the module," she said. "The drive is encrypted, and it's now additional evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
She looked at him directly. The expression on her face was one that Calhoun would later describe to his union attorney as "like she was reading from something I couldn't see." He meant it as an insult. He was more accurate than he knew.
"Evidence of what happened here today," she said. "All of it."
Calhoun leaned in closer to Nadia. Not touching, but near enough that it was a decision, not an accident. His voice dropped. "You think you're the first person to cite Florida statutes at me on the side of a road? I've been doing this job for nineteen years. I've heard every line."
Nadia looked at him. "I'm sure you have."
"Then you know how this ends."
"I do," she said. "Yes."
Something in her certainty stopped him. Not long—three seconds, maybe four. Then he turned.
Sharp was working on the driver's door panel when he found the secondary port: a small recessed channel behind the trim that ran a hairline wire toward the dashboard. He called Calhoun over.