"He let me drive it tonight."
Whitmore set the photograph down and reached for the sealed envelope. A federal emblem was printed in the corner. "This belongs to him, too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why is it in your possession?"
"Because he put it in the car."
Whitmore's tone sharpened. "That is not an answer."
Jordan looked at him steadily. "It is the truth."
For the first time, Cole raised his voice. "Daniel, we should stop here. Everything checks out."
Whitmore turned. "Then explain why a seventeen-year-old is carrying restricted federal material."
"You do not know that it is restricted."
"I know enough."
He placed the envelope on the hood and told Jordan to turn around. Jordan's breathing changed, but he did not argue.
The woman recording across the street stepped closer to the curb. "He has been cooperating!" she called out.
Whitmore pointed toward the sidewalk. "Stay back!"
Jordan heard the metallic click of restraints closing around his wrists—not tight, but final enough to make the humiliation real. He looked at the McLaren, at the scholarship letter, at the photograph, and wondered how quickly an ordinary evening had been rewritten.
His phone began ringing inside the car. Cole leaned through the open door and picked it up. The screen displayed Marcus Hayes.