Cop Accuses Black Man of Stealing a Car—Then Finds Out He’s a Supreme Court Judge | HO!!!!

PART ONE — The Stop That Was Never About a Car

On a rainy Tuesday night in Seattle, a police officer initiated what he believed would be a routine traffic stop.

Ten hours later, that stop would ignite one of the most damaging civil-rights scandals the city had seen in decades.

At its center stood two men who represented opposite ends of institutional power:
a young patrol officer with a reputation for “proactive policing,” and a 62-year-old Black man whose name sat engraved on the door of the state’s highest court.

What happened between them was not a misunderstanding.
It was a collision between bias and authority — recorded, documented, and ultimately exposed in open court.

1. The Officer Who Was “Too Proactive”

Officer Brody Miller had been on the force for five years.

On paper, he was a model cop: high arrest numbers, aggressive patrol logs, frequent “suspicious vehicle” stops. Supervisors described him as energetic. Union representatives described him as “committed.”

Internal Affairs described him differently.

Two prior complaints — both alleging racial profiling — had been dismissed for lack of corroborating evidence. Body-camera footage was inconclusive. Witnesses were unavailable.

Miller learned an important lesson early: as long as reports were written carefully, scrutiny could be survived.

On October 14, at approximately 11:45 p.m., Miller was parked beneath an oak tree in Greystone Heights, a wealthy enclave where most homes exceeded $3 million in value.

He was not responding to a call.

He was watching.

2. The Car That “Didn’t Belong”

A silver 1965 Jaguar E-Type passed through the rain, moving slowly, deliberately, exactly at the posted speed limit.

To most observers, that would suggest caution.

To Officer Miller, it suggested guilt.

Through the tinted glass, he glimpsed the driver’s silhouette: broad shoulders, dark skin.

In his later report, Miller would claim erratic driving.

Telemetry data would later show the opposite.

At that moment, Miller activated his lights.

3. The Man Behind the Wheel

The driver was Justice Samuel Holloway, a sitting member of the Washington State Supreme Court.

That detail would not matter for the next hour.

Holloway had spent the evening attending a charity event for the Innocence Project, followed by a late conversation with a law-school colleague. He was tired, but calm.

When the lights flashed, he did what Black Americans across professions are taught to do:

Pulled over immediately

Turned off the engine

Lowered the window

Placed both hands on the steering wheel

This was not paranoia.

It was survival.

4. A Stop Without Probable Cause

Officer Miller approached with his hand resting on his holster.

He did not greet Holloway.
He did not explain the stop.

“License and registration.”

When Holloway asked — politely — for the reason, Miller escalated.

He claimed a broken tail light.

Both lights were functioning.

He then claimed he smelled alcohol.

Holloway had not consumed alcohol in twenty years.

Each claim contradicted the next, a pattern familiar to civil-rights attorneys: probable cause created retroactively.

5. The Question That Changed Everything

Miller examined Holloway’s driver’s license.

The address listed: 404 Crest View Lane — three blocks away, one of the city’s most expensive streets.

Rather than resolving suspicion, the address deepened it.

“This is a nice car,” Miller said. “Whose is it?”

“It’s mine.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

This exchange would later become pivotal.
Not because of what was said — but because of what it revealed.

Miller did not doubt the paperwork.

He doubted the person.

6. Escalation as a Tactic

Miller ordered Holloway out of the vehicle.

Holloway asked if he was under arrest.

Miller claimed he smelled alcohol again and called for backup, describing the driver as “belligerent.”

This was demonstrably false.

Audio later recovered from Holloway’s phone would reveal no raised voice, no threats, no resistance.

But escalation had already served its purpose.

It justified force.

7. The Arrest

When Holloway unlocked the door, Miller yanked it open and pulled him into the rain.

He shoved Holloway against the Jaguar’s hood.

He spread his legs with his boot.

He cuffed him aggressively.

“You are making a grave mistake,” Holloway said.

“I am Justice Samuel Holloway.”

Miller laughed.

“Yeah, right.”

This was not ignorance.

It was disbelief that a Black man could occupy power without announcing it first.

8. Backup Arrives — And Hesitates

Sergeant Alan Kowalski arrived moments later.

He took one look at Holloway’s face and froze.

Kowalski had seen him before — on the news, at department events, swearing in officials.

“Did you run the plates?” Kowalski asked quietly.

Miller had not.

When Kowalski opened the glove compartment, the registration confirmed the truth.

Owner: Samuel J. Holloway.

Vehicle: 1965 Jaguar E-Type.

9. “No. Take Me In.”

At that moment, the arrest could have ended.

Apologies could have been issued.
The cuffs could have come off.

Holloway refused.

“You don’t get to unarrest me because you realized you were wrong,” he said.

“I want this documented.”

This decision would change everything.

10. Booking the Law

Justice Holloway was transported to the precinct, handcuffed in the back of a cruiser.

He did not protest.
He did not request special treatment.

At booking, the desk sergeant recognized him immediately.

So did the captain.

Both attempted to stop the process.

Holloway insisted on being treated like every other arrestee.

Fingerprinting.
Mugshot.
Holding cell.

He wanted the system recorded in its raw form.

11. Inside the Holding Cell

In the cell, Holloway met Leo Davis, a 19-year-old warehouse worker arrested earlier that night.

Davis claimed Officer Miller had slammed him into a tree after accusing him of “scouting houses.”

He had no lawyer.
He planned to plead just to go home.

Holloway listened.

And decided this case was no longer just about him.

12. The Phone Call That Lit the Fuse

Holloway used his phone call not to contact family — but to call Elena Rossi, one of the most formidable civil-rights attorneys in the state.

He told her three things:

Do not get me released

Prepare for arraignment

Represent the young man in my cell

Rossi understood immediately.

This was not a defense.

It was an exposure.

13. Morning Comes With Cameras

By dawn, national media had descended on the courthouse.

The headline wrote itself:

“Supreme Court Justice Arrested During Traffic Stop.”

Inside, prosecutors prepared to quietly dismiss charges.

They did not expect resistance.

14. The Objection That Shocked the Court

When the state moved to dismiss all charges, Holloway stood.

“I object.”

Gasps rippled through the courtroom.

He demanded a preliminary hearing — on the record.

If the officer had probable cause, let him say it under oath.

If not, let the truth be permanent.

Judge William Sterling agreed.

15. The Officer Takes the Stand

Officer Brody Miller testified confidently at first.

He claimed swerving.
He claimed alcohol.
He claimed resistance.

Then Elena Rossi began cross-examination.

She introduced telemetry data from the Jaguar: perfect lane discipline, constant speed.

She played audio recorded on Holloway’s phone: Miller contradicting himself, inventing reasons, escalating hostility.

Miller’s testimony collapsed.

Under oath.

In front of cameras.

16. The First Consequence

Judge Sterling dismissed all charges.

Then he went further.

He held Officer Miller in contempt for perjury.

The bailiff cuffed him.

The sound echoed — identical to the sound that began the night.

PART TWO — When Power Finally Faced the Mirror

The courtroom fell silent when the handcuffs closed around Officer Brody Miller.

The image ricocheted across national news: the same officer who had cuffed a sitting justice the night before was now being led away by the court’s bailiff. For many viewers, it felt like symmetry. For investigators, it was merely the beginning.

What followed would expose a policing culture built on assumption, an accountability system designed to deflect, and a legal reckoning that reshaped policy across an entire state.

17. The Immediate Fallout

Within hours of the contempt ruling, the Seattle Police Department placed Miller on administrative leave. The police union issued a statement urging “due process” and warning against “trial by media.”

Behind closed doors, Internal Affairs moved faster than it ever had on Miller before.

That speed was not accidental.

The difference this time was not evidence.
It was who had been targeted.

18. Internal Affairs Opens the Vault

Investigators subpoenaed Miller’s patrol logs for the previous 24 months.

Patterns emerged immediately.

Disproportionate stops of Black drivers in predominantly white neighborhoods

Repeated “suspicious vehicle” justifications without corresponding citations

High rates of consent searches yielding no contraband

When analysts overlaid demographics with stop locations, the results were stark.

Miller’s stops were not random.

They were predictive profiling.

19. The Messages He Thought Were Private

The most damaging evidence came from Miller’s department-issued phone.

Forensic extraction recovered deleted text messages exchanged with two other officers. The language was casual. Familiar. And overtly racist.

One message, sent weeks before the Holloway stop, read:

“These rich neighborhoods are full of stolen rides. You know who’s driving them.”

Another:

“Paperwork covers everything. They never push back.”

Investigators noted that Miller had learned how to write reports that insulated him from scrutiny — vague descriptors, shifting probable cause, and escalation narratives that framed citizens as noncompliant.

It was not rogue behavior.

It was a practiced technique.

20. The Union’s Quiet Retreat

As evidence mounted, the police union adjusted its posture.

Publicly, it continued to defend due process.

Privately, it stopped returning Miller’s calls.

Union leadership understood the political reality: defending Miller now threatened the institution itself.

When Miller requested union-funded legal representation for the impending civil-rights litigation, the request was denied.

For the first time in his career, he stood alone.

21. The Federal Civil-Rights Lawsuit

Justice Holloway filed suit in federal court under 42 U.S.C. § 1983, alleging unlawful detention, false arrest, excessive force, and violation of equal protection.

But the lawsuit was not centered on compensation.

Holloway requested:

A federal monitor over traffic-stop practices

Mandatory bias training tied to certification renewal

Independent review boards with subpoena power

Public release of anonymized stop data

The city attempted early settlement.

Holloway refused.

“Money closes cases,” he said. “Sunlight changes systems.”

22. The Case of Leo Davis

Parallel to Holloway’s lawsuit, Elena Rossi filed a motion to suppress evidence in the case of Leo Davis, the 19-year-old warehouse worker arrested the same night.

Rossi argued that Davis’s stop mirrored Holloway’s — vague suspicion, escalation without cause, and physical intimidation.

When body-camera footage was reviewed under the new scrutiny, it revealed Miller shoving Davis into a tree before issuing commands.

Charges against Davis were dismissed with prejudice.

The judge added a written admonishment to the record:

“This court finds a pattern of unconstitutional conduct.”

That sentence would echo.

23. Depositions Under Oath

During depositions, Miller’s confidence evaporated.

Confronted with telemetry data, message logs, and video, he contradicted earlier statements. When asked to explain the racial disparities in his stops, he claimed coincidence.

Expert witnesses dismantled the claim statistically.

By the third day, Miller invoked the Fifth Amendment repeatedly.

The city’s attorneys stopped objecting.

24. A Department on the Defensive

The mayor convened an emergency council session.

Community leaders demanded answers.
Civil-rights groups demanded resignations.
Officers demanded clarity.

Chief of Police Marianne Keller acknowledged “systemic failures” in public remarks — a phrase carefully chosen to distribute blame without conceding liability.

Behind the scenes, policy drafts were already circulating.

25. The Miller Ordinance

Six months after the stop, the city council passed what would become known as the Miller Ordinance.

Key provisions included:

Mandatory articulation of probable cause before vehicle searches

Automatic supervisory review of stops without citations

Real-time auditing of demographic stop data

Immediate suspension pending review for officers found lying under oath

The ordinance passed unanimously.

That unanimity spoke volumes.

26. The Trial That Never Was

Facing overwhelming evidence, the city settled the civil case.

The settlement included no admission of wrongdoing — standard language — but it included every policy reform Holloway demanded.

Miller resigned before termination proceedings concluded.

His law-enforcement certification was revoked by the state.

He did not attend the public announcement.

27. Justice Holloway’s Final Statement

At a press conference on the courthouse steps, Justice Holloway spoke briefly.

“I was not arrested because I am a judge,” he said.
“I was arrested because, to that officer, I was first and foremost a Black man who did not belong.”

He then addressed the larger issue.

“Accountability should not depend on status. If this can happen to me, imagine how often it happens to people without a title.”

He declined further questions.

28. Measuring the Impact

Within a year of the ordinance’s implementation:

Traffic stops declined by 18%

Searches without probable cause dropped by 43%

Complaints alleging racial profiling fell by 27%

Independent auditors noted improved report quality and increased supervisory intervention.

Change did not erase harm.

But it altered incentives.

29. The Officer’s Afterlife

Miller moved out of state.

Attempts to appeal his certification revocation failed.

He did not secure another law-enforcement position.

Former colleagues described him as “unlucky.”
Community members used a different word.

30. Final Assessment

This case was never about a car.

It was about who is presumed criminal — and who is presumed credible.

It exposed a policing culture where paperwork replaces truth, where escalation masks bias, and where accountability arrives only when power is forced to confront itself.

Justice Holloway did not seek special treatment.

He demanded equal treatment.

And in doing so, he made visible what countless others had endured without cameras, lawyers, or headlines.