Chapter 10: Off the Case

The agency's office was in a strip mall between a vape shop and a place that did eyebrows.

I asked the dentist for a late start on Monday, and he said, "Take all the time you need."

Then he said, "Is this about the birthday thing?"

The whole county had seen the birthday thing.

I drove Gene there myself.

He sat in the passenger seat in his good blue shirt with the tablet on his knee.

"You don't have to come in," I told him.

"Yes," said the voice. "I do."

The clinical coordinator was a woman in her fifties with reading glasses on a chain and a stack of paper in front of her.

Neil sat on the far side of the desk with his hands between his knees.

His face lifted when we walked in, and I saw him decide not to look glad.

"Ms. Wagner, this is a personnel meeting," the coordinator said. "I'll have to ask you to wait outside."

Gene lowered himself into the second chair by the wall, folded both hands on the tablet, and tapped.

"I am the patient. I would like to be heard."

The coordinator took off her glasses.

"Mr. Wagner. I understand. But we received a formal complaint, and I have to read it."

"Read it," said the voice.

She read it.

It was two pages from Tressa's email address, with the word concerned in it nine times.

It said that Neil had attended a family event outside his hours and accepted a meal.

It said he was romantically involved with the caregiver.

It said the patient was being isolated from his family and financially exploited by his daughter-in-law.