"Whoa there, Mr. Tuesti. Let's start at the beginning. Cocoa?"
I blinked, nonplussed, as a mug of hot cocoa was thrust into my hands. There were even little marshmallows floating on the surface. "I thought I was clear about what I needed- I need the medical files dealing with prosthetics." At least it smelled good; the aroma of chocolate and peppermint schnapps made my stomach growl. For a second I felt like a kindergartener having break time with the teacher- but I doubt any good teacher would spike her student's drinks with alcohol. "Can you help me with this or not?"
"I don't think you understand the scope of what you're asking, sir. The information you've requested is protected by confidentiality statues. I can't just hand those over." She sat back behind her desk, her own mug sitting on top of a stack of files. "I'm not even sure I understand why you came to *me* for this. I'm not a medical doctor. I'm a psychologist. I know little to nothing about the procedures you're