He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean, white envelope.

He slid the envelope across the dark wood of the desk.

It stopped right in front of me, the white paper stark against the dark mahogany.

“Open it,” Jason said.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out and picked up the envelope.

The paper was heavy and expensive.

I broke the seal and pulled out a thick document, along with a smaller slip of paper.

The smaller slip was a cashier’s check.

I stared at the numbers printed on the green background.

One million dollars.

“That is just the retainer,” Jason said, taking another sip of his scotch.

“What is this, Jason?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It is your exit strategy,” he said.

I unfolded the thick document.

The words at the top of the page were clear and stark: *Petition for Judicial Declaration of Incompetence and Appointment of Co-Guardian*.

I read down the page, my eyes scanning the legal jargon.

It was a petition to declare Ethan Thornton permanently vegetative and mentally incompetent.