They sat at the kitchen table until almost two in the morning.
Renee opened a legal pad.
Derek reconstructed the timeline minute by minute.
9:19, emergency lights activated.
9:20, vehicle stopped.
Approximately three-minute delay.
Initial demand for documents.
Changing explanations.
Taillight.
Lane change.
Weaving.
Marijuana odor.
Order to exit.
Threat of arrest.
Credentials produced.
Credentials questioned.
Verification.
Release.
They wrote exact phrases Derek remembered.
They noted the gas station cameras.
Possible witnesses.
Patrol unit number.
Officer badge number.
They saved the location data from Derek’s phone.
Renee made him stop when he began writing conclusions rather than observations.
“Facts first,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then write facts.”
Derek looked at her.
“You sound like me.”
“I’m married to you. It’s contagious.”
They slept for less than three hours.
At 7:02 a.m., Derek called FBI Special Agent Adrian Garcia.
Garcia worked regularly with DEA on organized-crime matters and occasionally coordinated with civil-rights investigators when law-enforcement misconduct intersected with federal cases.
He answered sounding half awake.
“This better involve a cartel.”
“Worse.”
Garcia laughed.
Then stopped when he heard Derek’s voice.
“What happened?”
Derek explained.
Garcia asked few questions.
Was the camera active?
Yes.
Credentials verified?
Yes.
Search conducted?
No.
Physical force?
No.
Threat of arrest?
Yes.
Specific language?
Derek told him.
Garcia exhaled.
“Do not contact McMillan.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not contact his supervisor directly either.”
“I already have the name.”
“I know you do. Let the process preserve itself before anyone has a reason to get creative.”
That afternoon, Garcia called back.
His voice had changed.
“Derek.”
“What?”
“McMillan has complaints.”
“How many?”
“Nine.”
Derek leaned back in his office chair.
“Nine complaints?”
“Over several years.”
“For what?”
“Traffic stops. Aggressive questioning. Race allegations. Unnecessary searches. Nothing sustained strongly enough to remove him.”
Derek stared through the office window at the federal building across the street.
“Nine people told the department something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s still patrolling.”
“Yes.”
Derek’s voice lowered.
“Why?”