He stopped directly in front of the high desk.
Miller heard the footsteps and slowly spun his chair around. When he saw who was standing on the other side of the counter, his laughter died instantly. His boots hit the floor with a heavy thud. For a brief second, shock widened his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a furious, dangerous arrogance.
"You have got to be kidding me," Miller sneered, standing up and stepping to the edge of the counter. He looked John up and down, noting the clean clothes but completely missing the authority radiating from the older man. "I told you to get out of my town, grandpa. Are you suicidal, or just completely stupid?"
"I want my money back, Miller," John said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was incredibly clear, cutting through the ambient noise of the lobby like a blade.
The civilians on the benches looked up, their eyes widening in fear. No one spoke to Officer Miller like that in this building.
Miller’s face hardened into a mask of pure malice. He rested his hand heavily on the butt of his service weapon. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I do know you're trespassing behind the desk boundary, you're threatening a police officer, and you're about to spend the next forty-eight hours in a holding cell drinking toilet water."
John didn't flinch. He didn't take a step back. "Two thousand dollars. Stolen from my wallet on County Road 9 approximately forty-five minutes ago. It's in your left breast pocket right now."
Davis stopped typing. The rookie froze in his chair, his eyes darting frantically between John and Miller.
Miller barked a harsh, ugly laugh. He looked at the other deputy behind the desk, shaking his head. "This old man is senile. He's off his meds." Miller turned back to John, unhooking the handcuffs from his belt with a metallic clink. "Put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."
"Are you going to let him do this, Davis?" John asked, shifting his gaze past Miller to the trembling rookie.
Davis gasped, looking like a deer in the headlights. "I... I don't..."
"Shut up, Davis," Miller snapped. He walked around the edge of the counter, stepping out into the public lobby, holding the handcuffs open. He reached out to grab John’s shoulder. "I said hands behind your back!"
John didn't move his hands to his back. Instead, he reached slowly into his pocket.
"I'm not the one wearing those tonight," John said quietly.
He pulled out the heavy gold Inspector badge and held it up, the state seal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Inspector John Sterling. State Police Anti-Corruption Task Force."
Miller’s hand stopped inches from John’s shoulder. The breath hitched in his throat. The blood drained from his arrogant face so fast he looked instantly sick. His eyes dropped to the gold badge, his mind scrambling to comprehend the impossible reality crashing down on him.
"You..." Miller stammered, stumbling backward a step. "You're... this is a joke. This is fake."
John raised his left hand and snapped his fingers once.