Page 163 of Reeves

Papers shuffle in the background.

"I’m nearby. If he’s available, I can come in now."

"Come on by. Can I give him your name to let him know?"

"Reeves Stone."

"Perfect, Mr. Stone. Do you need directions to our office?"

"I've got the address on Poydras. Is that the correct location?"

"It is, indeed. We'll see you soon."

The building isclean and forgettable. Beige brick. Tinted glass. A small sign near the entrance that simply says MedSouth Pediatric Partners.

Exactly the kind of place that checks all the boxes for a corporate medical office.

I shift my shoulder and the pain catches. I ignore it.

Then I open the door and get out.

The receptionist glances up when I enter, all professional smile and scheduled efficiency.

We exchange pleasantries before she tells me Dr. Henderson is expecting me. I want to tell her I have a hunch he isn't.

She leads me through a hallway lined with stock photos of happy families. Generic children playing generic games. We stop at an office door marked with Henderson's name and credentials.

Henderson stands when I step into the office. He’s taller than I expected based on his headshot online. He's in his late forties, trim suit. He's the kind of man who keeps everything contained.

His grip is firm when we shake. Dry palm. Controlled pressure.

“Mr. Stone, have a seat.”

I take the chair across from his desk and sit back, one ankle resting over my knee. The leather creaks under my weight.

“Jessica said you’re looking for services for your son.”

“That’s right.” I rest my forearms on the arms of the chair. “He’s five. Some delays we want to get ahead of.”

Henderson nods and reaches for a folder on his desk. He opens it and turns it slightly in my direction, pages filled with charts and printed materials.

“Early intervention makes a significant difference. We coordinate physical and occupational therapy in-house or in-clinic, and partner with a few specialists depending on the need.”

He slides a brochure across the desk. His fingers are steady. Nails clean. No hesitation.

I pick it up, glance down at it, then set it on my thigh.

“How many practices do you have?”

“We currently have thirty practices in three states and will likely double that by this time next year. We are growing because we know how to make sure these children have the care they need,” he says proudly.

I nod once and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

We go through it for a few more minutes. He talks. I listen. I ask enough to keep it moving, mainly to do recon on the kind of man I'm dealing with here.

His eyes stay on me the whole time. He’s used to this. Used to being the one in control of the conversation.

When he finishes, he folds his hands on the desk and waits. "I think I have the perfect therapist for your son. We can arrange a meeting with your son and the therapist before we get started to make sure you're comfortable."