Alana looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“My driver’s license is valid.”
“I need to establish identity.”
“You just ran it.”
“Ma’am.”
His voice changed again.
Command.
Alana recognized the transition.
She could have argued.
Instead, she opened her wallet again.
This time she removed a second credential.
A federal judicial identification card.
It was not some magical immunity card.
It did not exempt her from police contact.
It did not cancel legitimate investigation.
It simply established who she was.
Alana held it out.
“Here.”
Reeves took it.
He read.
UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT.
HON. ALANA D. PIERCE.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at her.
Something flickered across his face.
Not belief.
Annoyance.
“What's this supposed to be?”
“My federal judiciary identification.”
“You’re a judge?”
“Yes.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Sure.”
Alana stared.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re telling me you’re a federal judge?”
“I am telling you exactly that.”
Reeves handed the credential back without examining the seal more closely.
“Everybody has something.”
Alana felt the first unmistakable spark of anger.
Not because her title had been doubted.
People were allowed to verify credentials.
Because he had asked for proof, received proof, and reacted not by verifying it but by mocking it.
“Officer Reeves.”
He looked up sharply.
She had read his badge.
“Before you decide whether that credential is genuine, I suggest you actually verify it.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ll decide what I need to verify.”
Alana’s gaze remained steady.
“That is precisely what concerns me.”
Jerome Fields stopped pretending not to watch.
He pulled out his phone.
Not dramatically.
He opened the camera and pressed record.
Across the lot, a woman named Priya Nair stood beside her minivan with her teenage daughter.
Priya began filming too.
Reeves heard another radio call.
“Unit Twelve, status?”
He answered.
“Investigating possible stolen vehicle. Subject being evasive.”
Alana’s head turned slightly.
“Evasive?”
Reeves looked at her.
“Do not interrupt my radio traffic.”
“I have answered every question.”
“Step away from the vehicle.”
Alana took one step backward.
“Fine.”
“More.”
She took another.
“I’m not refusing.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
They were already visible.
Alana held them slightly away from her sides.
“Like this?”
Reeves did not answer.
He called dispatch again.
“Send me another unit.”
“Reason?”
“Possible stolen vehicle. Uncooperative subject.”
Jerome Fields said from several yards away:
“She’s not being uncooperative.”
Reeves spun.
“Sir, stay out of this.”
Jerome lifted one hand, phone still recording in the other.
“I’m over here.”
“Then stay over there.”
Alana said nothing.
But the word had entered the official record.
Uncooperative.