“That is discrimination,” he said.
“It is neurology.”
“Same feeling.”
We left with another appointment scheduled in two weeks, contingent on stable scans.
Noah smiled all the way to the elevator.
Not because he liked doctors.
Because needing them less meant moving forward.
In the car, he leaned his head against the seat.
“How tired?”
“Three.”
“Head?”
“One.”
“Settlement office?”
“Yes.”
“Clinic afterward?”
He considered.
“Yes, but quick.”
“We can postpone.”
“I want it done.”
I took his hand across the console.
“Then done.”
The settlement administrator occupied a glass building near the county offices.
Felicity Harrow met us in the lobby.
She was younger than I expected, with silver-framed glasses and a habit of aligning every page before speaking.
We sat in a conference room overlooking a parking structure.
She began with the yard’s resolved claims.
Final vehicle value.
Equipment reimbursement.
Business interruption.
Wage replacement.