Said the Car Was Mine—They Cuffed Me Anyway, Then Paid the Price

“This is my car,” I said.

It didn’t matter.

Officer Dale Rourke moved around to the passenger side while Mercer jerked my door open with enough force to make it slam against its hinges. His hand clamped around my arm before I even had a chance to step out on my own.

I stayed calm.

I told them the registration was inside the glove compartment.