I looked at the envelope on the table.

“Is that a threat, or a bribe?” I asked.

“It’s a transition package,” Cassandra said.

She tapped the envelope with one manicured fingernail.

“Inside is a contract for a consulting position with Whitaker Holdings,” she said.

“I don’t work for military contractors,” I said.

“You wouldn’t be working,” Cassandra said. “You would be retaining a monthly stipend of fifty thousand dollars.”

I stared at her, trying to read the blank expression in her blue eyes.

“For how long?” I asked.

“For ten years,” she said. “With a signing bonus of two million, paid into an offshore account tomorrow morning.”

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rain tapping against the glass.

That was more money than I would earn in three lifetimes at the Department of Justice.

“And what do I have to do for this ‘consulting’ role?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Cassandra said. “That is the entire point.”

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees.

“You stop looking for Aaron Vale,” she said. “You stop asking about the convoy in Kunar Province.”