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“No.”

His eyes stay on me.

“Riley involved?”

“No.”

“Know you’re here?”

“No.”

That gets the smallest movement at one corner of his mouth.

“Sit down.”

I put the folder on his desk and keep my hand on it. He notices.

“What are you selling me?”

“A way for your players to tell the truth earlier.”

I slide the folder toward him.

“An independent contractor, not team staff. A player can come to me before a problem becomes a roster problem.”

“And my medical staff does what?”

“Their jobs.”

He looks at Maren. She does not rescue me.

Good.

Silas flips to Reporting and taps the page.

“You’re asking me to pay you to know less about my own players.”

“I am asking you to pay for them to tell someone sooner.”

He stops tapping.

“If a player thinks every symptom ends up in your office, he has a reason to edit himself. Sometimes he waits. Sometimes he compensates until the compensation creates another problem.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes.”

Silas looks at Maren, and this time she answers.

“She’s right. They trust me. They also know who signs my checks.”

“You want this?”

“I want fewer players waiting until I can see the problem from across the room.”

There is no joke in her voice. Silas turns to Intake.

“Let’s use one we all know.”