Filstrup took off his glasses, cleaned them with a tissue, and rubbed at his eyes. “Sit down, Lou,” he instructed. His deep baritone was belied by his size.

Lou removed papers from the Aeron chair, set them down on the carpeted floor, and took the seat himself.

“So, how are you holding up?” Filstrup asked.

There was no detectable anger in his voice, which was a source of some surprise. Where was the rage? That crimson forehead?

“I’m doing okay, Walter,” Lou said, “given the circumstances. How about you?”

“I’m doing all right—given the circumstances,” Filstrup said.

It’s over, Lou realized at that moment. Walter is calm because it’s already over.

“Walter, let’s cut to the chase,” Lou said. “I’m assuming you asked to meet with me to discuss the situation in Kings Ridge.”

Now almost smirking, Filstrup snapped open up a case file that Lou assumed belonged to John Meacham. Lou watched as his boss flipped unhurriedly through the pages.

“We talked about this case when I took over as director for the PWO. Do you remember?”

Lou managed a microscopic nod. How in the hell could I forget, Walter?

Walter Filstrup had assumed the helm of the PWO from Dr. Abigail Stevenson with all the grace and patience of a deer trapped in a living room. His first act was to demand that the two assistant directors review, in front of him, all the active cases. The ADs were Lou and a passive little psychiatrist named Ollie Comer, who had been there since the program’s inception twelve or thirteen years ago, and was on the tail end of a profound, protracted burnout.

The discussion surrounding John Meacham was not pretty. During the pitched battle over Lou’s choice of treatment, Comer, who was not in recovery, and had actually been Lou’s monitor following his release from rehab, said not a word.

“John Meacham should have been seeing a psychiatrist,” Filstrup said now, echoing his position from that unpleasant day after he had taken over the operation.

“You say it like it’s a fact, Walter,” Lou countered, as he did then, “as though there isn’t another option that would have worked.”

“For a case like John Meacham, there isn’t,” Filstrup shot back.

Now Lou had to once again clench his jaws to keep himself from a useless, inflammatory, snide retort.

When Filstrup took over the PWO, John Meacham was doing just fine. He was attending AA meetings daily, sometimes twice a day, abstaining from any alcohol or other drugs, and not surprisingly, given the work he was doing on himself, keeping his anger issues in check. Twelve steps to remaking a life—and John Meacham had taken them all, and would keep on taking them, Lou firmly believed.

“Alcoholism is a disease, not a moral issue, Walter. We’ve been through this before.”

“No, you’ve been through this with me. And I haven’t agreed.”

“You haven’t listened. I know what I do here works. I have successful case after successful case to prove it.”