Danny sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked federal SUV as they sped out onto Interstate 10 to catch up with the rig. Twenty miles down the highway, Danny pointed out Vance's heavy-haul truck cruising steadily in the right lane. The radio crackled as dispatch returned with the license check. The system flagged an immediate discrepancy: Vance’s commercial license did not match the registered owner or assigned driver listed on the rig's official transit manifest.
The agent kept a discreet distance behind the semi while dispatch contacted the freight company to verify the record. As they trailed the trailer, Danny couldn't stop staring at the rear wheels, his mind racing through every impossible possibility—from dense chemical compounds to solid precious metals—trying to figure out what could weigh that much without showing up on standard scans.
Minutes later, dispatch confirmed that Vance was clean; he had officially logged a last-minute shift swap to cover for his sick colleague. "If we stop him now, we risk blowing the operation," the federal agent explained to Danny. "Whoever is waiting at that Dallas warehouse expects this rig. We follow Vance all the way to the drop."