Vera didn’t manage to turn off the engine. The inspector was already standing by the window, slapping the roof of the old “Niva” with his palm.
His face was red and sweaty. Behind him stood a patrol car, parked diagonally, blocking the road. The highway was empty. More than thirty degrees of heat.
— Good afternoon. You didn’t introduce yourself.
— You don’t need to know. Documents. Quickly.
Vera slowly exhaled. Fifty-three years old. Twenty-eight of those spent in the Internal Affairs Ministry’s Internal Oversight Department — the place where they teach you to read people by micro-expressions and not react to rudeness.
Now she sat in jeans and a faded T-shirt, no insignia on her. In the trunk was a folder on two colonels — inspection materials she was taking to headquarters. She had to submit it by evening.
And here was this guy.
— You stopped me without cause — she said calmly.
— I’m the cause. Give me your license and don’t get smart.
Vera handed over her driver’s license. The inspector took it and looked it over with a mocking smile.
— Vera Sergeyevna. Fifty-three. What are you wandering around in this heat for, grandma? Visiting your grandkids?
She didn’t answer. Don’t react. Don’t be provoked. This is work — even if you’re on vacation.
— I smell alcohol — he said. — Blow into the breathalyzer.
— I don’t drink alcohol. But I’m willing to undergo a medical examination.
The inspector twisted his mouth. He was clearly expecting tears, excuses, or banknotes. Instead, he got calm consent. He walked to the patrol car and came back without any device.
— The breathalyzer is broken. We’re going for a medical exam. The car will be towed.
— Then write up the report and call a tow truck.
— You’re going to tell me how to do my job?! I know what I’m doing!
Vera took out her phone. Placed it on the dashboard and turned on recording. The screen lit up.
— What are you doing?
— I’m recording a violation. You didn’t state your name, didn’t show your ID, and accused me without evidence. Please state your rank and name.
The inspector’s face flushed even more. He stepped closer, leaning into the window so that Vera smelled sweat and tobacco.
— You filthy bitch. You trying to record me?
He snatched the license from the dashboard, where he himself had placed it. Vera saw something snap in his eyes. Rage. The urge to destroy.
— You know what I’m going to do now?
— Stop. You are not in a stable mental state.
— For you, sweetheart, the road ends here.
He grabbed the license with both hands and sharply bent it. The plastic cracked. Then he snapped it completely and threw the pieces into the ditch, into the dry grass.
— There you go. Now get out of here without a license, if you’re so smart. And just try to complain.
Three seconds of silence. Vera sat motionless, hands on the steering wheel. Inside, everything was boiling. She remembered her daughter’s face when she told her how an inspector had demanded money for a violation that never existed.
Back then, Vera couldn’t help — there was no proof. Her daughter paid and kept quiet. She was afraid it would get worse.
Now Vera slowly got out of the car. She went to the ditch and picked up the pieces of the license. Placed them on the hood and turned them toward the phone’s camera.
— What is your name?
— What’s it to you?
— State your name and rank.
The inspector smiled and crossed his arms.
— Sergeant Karpenko. Got that, smart girl? Now disappear before I detain you for disobedience.
Vera stared at him for a long time. Then she opened the inner pocket of the jacket lying on the passenger seat. Took out a red ID. A golden emblem on the cover. Opened it in front of his face.
— Internal Oversight Department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Deputy Head Kirssanova Vera Sergeyevna.
You have just destroyed a police officer’s official documents while on duty, Sergeant Karpenko.
Maxim stared at the ID. Then at Vera. Then back at the red booklet. His face drained from red to pale white. His lips trembled.
— I… I didn’t… I didn’t know…
— You didn’t know who I was. But you knew exactly what you were doing. How many times have you stopped people like this? How many times did they pay you to be left alone?
— No, you misunderstand, this is the first time—
— Don’t lie to me. I’ve been in this job for twenty-eight years. I can tell when someone is lying.
Vera dialed a number. A short ring. They answered immediately.
— Internal Oversight duty desk.
— Deputy Head Kirssanova. Interregional highway, kilometer 238. I’m requesting a team. Traffic officer exceeded his authority, destroyed my official documents, demanded money, and threatened me. The violation is recorded.
— Understood. The team is on its way. Twenty minutes.
Vera hung up. Maxim stood gripping the patrol car, his head lowered.
— Please… I didn’t mean to… I have a family, a small child…
— The people you humiliated had families too. Did you think about that?
— I won’t do it again, I swear—
— Silence.
The second officer also got out of the car. He was young, confused. He’d been sitting inside the whole time, hoping no one would notice him.
— Your name? — Vera asked.
— Rogov Viktor Andreyevich, lieutenant.
— Did you see what he did?
Viktor was silent, looking back and forth.
— Answer. Or you’ll be a suspect too.
— I saw it.
— Does he do this often?
A pause. Maxim looked at him pleadingly. Viktor swallowed and looked away.
— Yes. Almost every shift. He chooses people who don’t argue. Women, the elderly, foreigners. He says they smell of alcohol or that the car is wanted. They get scared and pay. He lets them go.
Maxim stepped toward him.
— What did you do, you rat?!
— Stop — Vera stepped between them. — One more step and it will be witness intimidation.
Maxim stopped. Lowered his hands. His gaze went empty.
The team arrived eighteen minutes later. Two cars, four people in civilian clothes. Vera gave a brief report and handed over the recording. The license fragments were placed into a transparent evidence bag.
Maxim was taken away. He walked with his head down, stumbling. He didn’t resist. Viktor stepped aside, lit a cigarette, and stared at the roadside.
The team leader approached Vera and handed her a temporary driver’s permit.
— It’s taken care of. When you reach the city, you’ll get a new one. We’ve been watching him for a while. There were complaints, but no proof. Now there is.
Vera nodded. Got into the car. Started the engine. In the rearview mirror she saw Maxim in the patrol car — his face frozen. That morning he was a sergeant. Now he was the subject of a criminal case.
She merged back onto the road. Turned on soft music. In her pocket was the bag with the license fragments — evidence. The folder was on the back seat. Everything was going according to plan.
Only her hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. Not from fear. From anger she had held back for half an hour. She thought of her daughter, and all those people who paid men like him because they were afraid. Because they didn’t know they didn’t have to stay silent.
Now he knows.
A week later, during the internal investigation, Maxim was suspended. A criminal case was opened.
Viktor gave full testimony — dashcam footage surfaced, witnesses, more extortion cases. People were no longer afraid once they knew there was evidence.
Vera received her new driver’s license at headquarters. She submitted the folder the same day. On the desk remained a photo: the broken license pieces — attached to the case file.
And Maxim sat at home, waiting for court. Without a uniform. Without a salary. Without rank. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that old “Niva” and the woman with the cold gaze.
He thought she was nobody. He thought he could humiliate her and forget.
But she was the one who remembered. And she did not forgive.
Vera no longer thought about him. She had other cases, other roads, other sergeants who believed a uniform meant impunity. But she kept the recording. Just in case.
Sometimes luck doesn’t smile on the strongest. But on those who are more patient.
