"US Marshal Talia Vance," she said, her voice clear and carrying across the quietening room. She slid the sealed federal warrant across the counter. "I'm here to serve a federal search and seizure warrant for this precinct, and I need to see Chief Whitlock immediately."
Calder finally looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Talia’s badge and the manila envelope. A slow, condescending smirk spread across his face. He picked up the envelope, weighing it in his hand, before tossing it back onto the desk.
"Listen, lady," Calder scoffed. "I don't know what kind of prank you're pulling, or if you bought that tin badge off the internet, but we don't do 'federal warrants' here without the Chief's say-so."
"I strongly suggest you verify my credentials, Sergeant," Talia said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. "And then I suggest you comply with a direct order from a federal judge."
Calder laughed out loud. He picked up the sealed document, breaking the wax seal, and looked at the paper. "Looks like fake legal mumbo-jumbo to me. We've got enough real crime to deal with. I'm not playing games with an imposter."
To Talia's disbelief, Calder took the warrant in both hands and ripped it down the middle, then ripped it again, letting the pieces flutter onto the linoleum floor.
A few feet away, a young rookie officer named Davis stared at the floor. His eyes widened as he recognized the distinct, raised blue ink of a genuine federal court stamp on one of the torn fragments. He opened his mouth to speak—"Sergeant, wait, that's a real—"