“And I let your father walk away,” I said.

“My father is not the one you need to worry about,” Cassandra said.

I frowned, looking at her closely.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You think my father is the mastermind of this family, Grace,” she said. “You think he coordinates the contracts.”

“He’s the Colonel,” I said. “He signed the authorization forms for the security transport.”

Cassandra let out a short, quiet laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping pavement.

“My father is a soldier,” she said. “He knows how to follow orders, and he knows how to take the blame.”

She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the dark street.

“He hasn’t run the corporate side of the Whitaker Group in five years,” she said.

“Then who has?” I asked.

She turned around, her silhouette framed by the wet glass.

“I have,” she said.

The confession was delivered with complete calm, as if she were telling me the time of day.

“Ethan told me you worked in public relations for the firm,” I said.