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his credentials. Along the adjacent wall, beneath the collages, was Martin’s therapy chair, a black leather recliner in which he never reclined, at least not in the presence of patients. He purchased the recliner while in graduate school and had grown attached to it over the years. For the amount of sitting he had to do in the course of a day, which could sometimes add up to twelve hours, it was perfect.
    The two men settled in. Martin placed a clipboard on his lap and uncapped the fountain pen that Katherine had given him for his 35th birthday. Martin was too practical a man to indulge himself with a $200 Montblanc. Katherine firmly believed that occasional extravagance made life more fun.
    “Well, so here we are,” Benoît said.
    Beneath the charm, Martin read the man’s discomfort, a common reaction for first-timers, but compounded for someone of Benoît’s stature. Martin was accustomed to this; one didn’t practice in Great Neck without encountering the rich and powerful. He smiled responsively. “May I call you Jacques?” he asked.
    “Oh yes, of course. Everybody does.”
    Martin guessed that this probably wasn’t true, though he appreciated the graciousness nonetheless. After gathering standard information from Benoît, Martin got down to business. “So, you’ve been out of the hospital for a few days, how have things been going?”
    “Perfectly well. I am back at work, full time, feeling good, with no complaints. Everything is exactly as it was before this unfortunate incident.”
    “So, how can I help?” Translation: Let’s get past all the reasons why you may feel you don’t need any more treatment. You’re here. What do you intend to get out of it?
    “Well, I suppose I should discuss what happened. They tell me that if I can understand it better, it is less likely to happen again.”
    “ They being?”
    “Dr. Reddy and all the kind people at the hospital.”
    “Your wife as well,” Martin added, revealing a bit of his initial conversation with Reddy.
    “Yes, I cannot forget my darling wife. She has been so worried, coming to you is the least I can do to appease her.”
    Martin was pensive for a moment; they were off to an adequate, though formal, start. Normally, he would go slowly, chat some and build rapport. But there was something about this guy that tempted him to rattle the cage just a bit. “Good, so you’re here to learn more about yourself and also to make your wife feel better. I can at least help you with the first part.”
    Benoît smiled.
    “Let’s talk about the afternoon you took the pills,” Martin continued.
    Benoît nodded.
    “Do you know why you felt so despondent?”
    Benoît sighed as if in deep thought. “I can only tell you what I told them in the hospital. I am in the hotel business, as you probably know. I own about thirty resorts all over the world. In the past year alone, we have made eleven new acquisitions. Things have been, as they say, taking off. I travel the world constantly. There is more pressure than you can imagine. Shareholders, hungry vice presidents, corporate customers. I am not growing any younger, and perhaps I felt it all somehow slipping away. Does that sound strange?”
    Martin considered the question. It did sound strange, at least as a reason for suicide. “I’m not sure,” he said.
    “Yes, I suppose I expected that answer. Dr. Reddy was also, how should I put it… skeptical.”
    “Does that upset you?”
    “To be honest, I am used to people accepting what I say.”
    “But you can understand our concern, considering the circumstances.”
    “Well, I’m here.” A forced smile.
    Martin considered the historical information Benoît had provided. As he had anticipated, it was clinically unremarkable. Benoît claimed he did not have any relatives who suffered from depression, and denied having had any previous bouts himself. This was it, a single, isolated incident, leading to an impulsive, irrational act. Martin had thought of