The Director of the DEA sat opposite from Agent Tell, staring across his desk with grim assessment mixed with paternalistic concern on his face. "Son, do you know why I've asked you here?"
Agent Tell maintained his characteristic bland composure, but inwardly shifted into high-gear due to the seriousness of the Director's attitude. "No, sir."
"Agent Tell, I know all about the stresses of this job, and I also understand..." The Director paused, choosing his words carefully. "...the temptations that might go along with it."
Tell was genuinely confused for a moment, but had to tamp down panic when he realized what was being insinuated. Still, he he would have to wait for the Director to make an explicit accusation before responding - anything else would appear suspicious. "Sir, I honestly don't understand what this is about."
Now the Director looked angry. "Tell, I know about your problem. Agent Prinn saw you go into that place, and saw you using. Do you deny it?"
Tell searched for some plausible, sustainable lie that would let him keep his job, but realized it was pointless. He had gotten sloppy, and especially so on that morning when his need had been acute. "No, Director. I have a drug problem. Do what you have to do."
The Director's face lost its anger and looked only sad. He sighed. "We'll get to that. But tell me how it started. You were a bright young Agent with a promising career. What happened?"
Tell wouldn't look at the Director as he spoke, staring around the walls or at his shoes. "It started out as just a way to get through the day. First it was only on really hard cases where I'd have to stay focused for long periods of time, but then it became a...habit. I started using it every day, then several times a day. Before I knew it, I used every chance to have it."
The Director nodded solemnly. "But on that day you couldn't hide it anymore. Prinn saw how distracted you were when you hadn't had your fix, and followed you to find out what was going on."
"Yes, Sir. I needed it. Badly. There was no way I could have gotten through the day without it. So I made excuses and drove to..." Tell gulped to suppress a sob. "...to Starbucks."
The Director sighed again, dejectedly. "You should have spoken to someone about your drug addiction, Son. Not even necessarily within the Agency, but just anyone who could have helped you without endangering your career. Caffeine is no joke. The Reign of Terror in the French Revolution was hatched in coffee houses not unlike the one you visited. Just look at you, all jittery and fiending for a fix." The Director shook his head.
Tell sank even further into his chair. "I know. Believe me, I know. The lowlifes I had to hang around to get this stuff, it was awful."
"Well, Son, now you have to face the consequences. You're lucky I've got such pull with the District Attorney - he'll probably be willing to accept a plea bargain down to misdemeanor possession of caffeine. Anyone else and it would have been federal prison. We'll get you the help you need, don't worry. But I'm afraid you'll never wear that badge again."
Now Tell really did begin sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring disgrace to this office by using drugs. I won't ever drink coffee again."