Calhoun came around to the passenger side. He looked at Renata. He looked at Nadia. He looked at the interior of the car again—that same cataloging quality, that same offense taken at the existence of something he decided shouldn't belong to the people inside it.
"Both of you, out. Now."
Nadia opened her door. She stepped out with measured deliberateness, neither hurried nor slow. She stood beside the car in her charcoal blazer and looked at Calhoun directly. "Captain," she had read his collar rank, "can you tell us the reason for the stop?"
"Failure to maintain lane."
Nadia said nothing. She had been traveling in a straight line on an empty two-lane road. She had checked her mirrors every eight seconds, as her father had taught her. She had not deviated from her lane by a single foot.
She said, "I'd like to note that for the record."
Calhoun stared at her. "What record?"
She didn't answer that.
Priya Holden, standing quietly behind the vehicle, had switched on her body camera at the moment the Rolls-Royce pulled over. Standard protocol. It was recording. She was aware that Sergeant Okafor's camera was also on. She was not yet aware that within the next twenty minutes, Captain Calhoun would order all cameras off.
Calhoun walked a slow circuit around the Ghost. He stopped at the rear. He crouched and looked at the taillights. He stood. He circled back to the front and looked at the windshield. He was not looking for a traffic violation; he was constructing one. Building the story backward from a conclusion he had already reached.
"Registration says this car is out of a storage address. You just drive it occasionally?"
"Yes," Nadia said.
"Where are you coming from this morning?"