But by then, both sides understood a public trial carried enormous risk.
For the city, there was financial exposure.
More damagingly, there was the possibility of a jury watching the video, hearing from previous complainants, and asking why nothing substantial happened after complaints one through nine.
For Derek, trial meant years.
Appeals.
Depositions.
Public scrutiny.
Attacks on his credibility.
Questions about his DEA work that could not always be answered publicly.
He accepted compromise on money.
He refused to compromise on reforms.
The case settled on March 22, 2025.
The total monetary component allocated to Derek and covered legal costs amounted to $475,000.
Headlines focused on that number.
Derek hated that.
Because the money was not the part he considered the victory.
The larger agreement required changes to traffic-stop oversight.
Body-camera compliance became stricter, with clear activation requirements and auditing.
An early-intervention system was implemented to flag officers whose complaints, searches, stop patterns, or use-of-force data showed unusual clusters.
Pretextual traffic stops received additional supervisory review.
The department began publishing demographic stop data.
A community oversight mechanism received expanded access to records and investigative information within legal limits.
Annual bias and constitutional-policing training was redesigned around actual case footage rather than generic slide presentations.
The department also created written materials explaining basic stop procedures and complaint options.
Derek insisted on one additional condition.
McMillan’s body-camera video could be used internally for training.
The first academy session was uncomfortable.
Derek attended anonymously in the back.
The instructor did not introduce him.
Forty-two recruits sat facing a screen.
The footage began.
“License and registration.”
The recruits watched.
Taillight.
Lane change.
Weaving.
Odor.
Then:
“You getting smart with me, boy?”
The room changed.
At the end, the instructor turned on the lights.
“What went wrong?”
Hands rose.
One recruit said, “The officer got emotionally attached to winning the interaction.”
Another said, “He stopped investigating and started defending his own earlier decisions.”
A third said, “Once the driver challenged him, every new observation supported what he already wanted to believe.”
The instructor nodded.
“Confirmation bias.”
Derek remained silent in the back.
Then a young recruit near the aisle said something that stayed with him.
“The badge didn’t create the problem. It amplified the officer’s ability to act on it.”
Derek looked down.
Exactly.
Six months after the settlement, analysts reviewed traffic-stop data in the district where McMillan had worked.
Stops of Black motorists had fallen approximately thirty-four percent.
Yet citations for documented traffic violations remained relatively stable.
The department cautioned against drawing sweeping conclusions from one period of data.
Derek appreciated that caution.
He had spent his career distrusting convenient statistics.
Still, the preliminary picture suggested something significant.
Enforcement had not disappeared.
Questionable stops had.
Samantha Martinez stopped taking the fifteen-minute detour home.
She told Derek that during a community meeting.
He almost did not recognize her.
When she introduced herself, he stood.
“You’re the nurse.”
She smiled.
“The one who kept driving around his district.”
They shook hands.
“I drive the old route now.”
“How does that feel?”
“Ordinary.”
She laughed.
“I never thought ordinary could feel like winning.”
Christopher Wilson attended another meeting with his daughter.
She was eight then.
Derek apologized for what had happened to her birthday.
Christopher shook his head.