The two arrest teams brought the Chinese woman known as "Night Angel" back to the station.
Search warrants for both her phone and residence had already been approved. The phone had been combed through, every relevant detail logged. A third team had already headed to her home — in a case this big, no one wanted to be left out of the credit. If one unit took all the work, they'd just make enemies.
They also contacted the County Bureau's data systems division to dig up every scrap of information on Night Angel and any possible transaction records. This inevitably caught the attention of the County Narcotics Division, who called in demanding to take over — only to have Chief Mesa shut them down.
The Narcotics Division was on the same level as a substation. If the substation didn't feel like handing it over, there wasn't much they could do, except leave with a few bitter parting words: "Just don't come begging us if you screw it up."
No one took that seriously. They were all cops — no one had much respect for that kind of talk.
Night Angel was brought into the interrogation room. She stated that she had the right to remain silent and would not say anything until her lawyer arrived, and she demanded her two children be returned to her.
The children, of course, weren't going back. This was a police station, not a daycare — and more importantly, she'd been selling marijuana while in custody of minors. By regulation, her parental rights would be temporarily suspended, and Child Protective Services was already on the way.
While the lawyer was still en route, the team reviewed what they had.
Night Angel — real name Zhang Yue. Chinese. Came to the U.S. on a spousal visa through her Chinese husband, eventually getting a green card. Later divorced, gaining full custody of the two children at her own insistence.
Since arriving in the U.S., Zhang Yue had hardly worked. Her ex-husband wasn't wealthy; even with the assets from the divorce and the child support, the math didn't add up — rent, 401K contributions, legal fees, living costs, car payments, child expenses, and her own spending easily exceeded her means. Somewhere along the line, she'd found her way into marijuana sales.
Based on the data so far, she was almost certainly a distributor rather than a producer — female, broke, no property to grow on, raising two kids, driving around to meet buyers she'd found online. It wasn't a slight against her; people like that simply didn't have the profile of a major cartel player.
Which begged the question — where had she gotten her supply? If a street-level dealer could stock that much product, her supplier must be moving truly massive volume.
Then word came in — her lawyer had been notified and was already on the way, arriving any minute.
Deputy Chief Robin would handle him. Robin was practically rubbing his hands, ready to spar with both Night Angel and her counsel.
As always, the arrest was only the start of the case.
Felix took the chance to observe — it was too good a learning opportunity to pass up. Their shift had already been cleared in advance to focus on the arrest, and no one had expected it to go this quickly or cleanly. With no orders to return to routine patrol, they were killing time in the office, sipping coffee and swapping stories — a rare bit of downtime.
Before long, a man in a tailored suit came striding in, briefcase in hand. He introduced himself immediately as the attorney for the woman known as Night Angel — Zhang Yue — and demanded to see his client in private.
By law, they had to allow it. The attorney stepped into the interrogation room, and all officers had to leave, giving them space for confidential discussion.
Zhang Yue and her lawyer muttered back and forth for a good while before he emerged. "My client is an Orange County resident. I challenge your jurisdiction."
"She was apprehended in Temple City while preparing to conduct a transaction. That puts it firmly in our jurisdiction," Robin replied.
The lawyer knew that perfectly well — he was just fishing, hoping something might stick. "You're patrol officers. Apprehending suspects isn't your role."
"We're police. We act against crime in all its forms."
"I demand to review the bodycam footage."
He was looking for a technical slip — something to invoke the "fruit of the poisonous tree" doctrine, where evidence obtained illegally becomes inadmissible.
An officer pulled up the footage. The stop was clean: badges displayed, identity announced, clear verbal warnings, no injuries, no excessive force.
Finding no foothold, the lawyer went back to whisper with Zhang Yue again. When he returned, he said, "My client denies all of your allegations. She did not engage in narcotics sales. She was merely taking her children to the bathroom. The marijuana in the car was minimal — a coincidence."
Ignoring the facts, he was trying to undermine the charges.
Robin didn't flinch. "We found a medical marijuana ID card in the white Tesla registered to your client. Records confirm it belongs to Zhang Yue. By law, there are strict limits on medical marijuana possession. The quantity in her car vastly exceeded those limits — and she also had a large volume of marijuana-derived products, which aren't even covered under her medical card."
The lawyer nodded slightly. "That may indicate possession of more than the limit, but it does not prove sales. Can you prove she is 'Night Angel'?"
The man had skill. Since the arrest wasn't made mid-transaction — no cash-for-product moment — he was trying to shake the trafficking charge.
Robin was ready. "Yes, we can. We obtained lawful search warrants for her phone and residence. On her phone, we found her using the handle 'Night Angel' on multiple platforms — Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Telegram, you name it. The accounts are registered to her phone number, which she's been paying for over years. That handle belongs to Zhang Yue.
"Our officers contacted her — 'Night Angel' — on Snapchat, negotiated a price, set a location, and arranged for the specific marijuana product. That's a completed illegal narcotics agreement, even if the arrest didn't occur at the exact moment of exchange."
The lawyer rolled his eyes. He hadn't expected a small substation to come this prepared — he'd underestimated them, assuming they were just meter maids with badges.
He thought for a moment, then tried again. "At most, that proves one unsuccessful attempted sale — an eighth of an ounce, as I understand it. That's a fine at worst."
Robin's turn to smirk. "You're mistaken. From her phone records, we found over 5,000 Snapchat messages between 'Night Angel' and more than 400 different accounts — all discussing drug sales, delivery arrangements, and prices.
"Last month alone, we confirmed multiple illegal sales: an 18-year-old girl bought a blueberry-flavoured vape cartridge for $50; another 18-year-old arranged to meet outside an elementary school to buy marijuana; a 19-year-old bought a vape pen and a bong outside another school; an 18-year-old bought edible marijuana brownies; a 20-year-old bought marijuana and Pink Whitney alcohol for $90.
"That's just the tip of the iceberg. If necessary, we can work through every single message and identify every single buyer."
The lawyer cursed inwardly. Idiot woman — finishing the deals and leaving the messages sitting there? Not even deleting them? If not for the fee he'd collected, he'd have walked away already.
But it wasn't entirely stupidity — drug sales weren't one-offs. Marijuana was addictive; repeat customers were the norm. Keeping messages let her instantly recognise a returning buyer without going through the whole script again.
After a pause, the lawyer lowered his voice. "What do you want, officer? She's not worth all this trouble. What's your real ask?"
Robin's smile widened. "Let's talk."