Page 24 of Borrowed Pain
The corporate registration pointed to something called Meridian Wellness Group, a holding company that owned dozens of similar entities across six states, all with the same pattern—administrative addresses, no treatment facilities, and no evidence that patients ever set foot in actual buildings.
I pulled up Dr. Celeste Harrow's published research, cross-referencing her methodologies with Riverside's stated treatment protocols. From a layperson's view, her papers were brilliant, but they described clinical trials conducted in university settings, not luxury retreat centers.
My phone buzzed—a text from an old Bureau contact I'd reached out to earlier.
Kyle:Can't find any federal oversight records for Riverside. No Medicare billing or insurance claims processed. Are you sure this place actually treats patients?
I stared at my evidence wall with Iris's photo pinned beside eight others who'd allegedly attended similar programs.
If Riverside didn't operate a treatment facility, where would these people have gone?
My hands shook as I opened a new browser tab, searching for the address listed on Meridian's corporate documents. Street view images loaded slowly, revealing a generic office park in Bellevue's tech corridor. Glass and steel buildings that housed accounting firms, software companies, and dental practices.
Suite 418 occupied the fourth floor of one of those buildings.
"Son of a bitch," I breathed.
The intensive residential treatment program that had recruited Iris was a front. Whatever happened to her didn't happen at a licensed medical facility with trained staff and ethical oversight. It happened somewhere else entirely that didn't exist in official records.
I grabbed my phone, typed a text to Miles, and then deleted it. Started again.
Rowan:Need to show you something. Can you meet me tonight?
Miles:How bad?
Rowan:Bad enough that we need to see it ourselves.
I pushed back from my desk. If Riverside operated out of a Bellevue office building, we needed to see what happened there after business hours. We needed to understand how they'd convinced Iris and countless others to trust them with their healing.
And we needed to do it before anyone realized we were asking the right questions.
My phone buzzed.
Miles:Where and when?
I looked at the rain streaking my windows, then at the address glowing on my laptop screen.
Rowan:8 PM. Bellevue. Bring a raincoat. And Miles? Don't tell anyone where you're going.
Bellevue's office parks transformed after dark into monuments to corporate anonymity. Identical glass towers loomed along NE 8th, their mirrored skins catching only the sodium glow of streetlights and the red pulse of traffic on I-405.
My car idled in a visitor parking space with a clear view of 3250 156th Avenue SE. My wipers squeaked every few seconds as rain drummed against the windshield. The building looked exactly like what it was—expensive mediocrity designed to houseaccountants and insurance adjusters and whoever else made their living pushing paper through fluorescent-lit cubicles.
Miles pulled into the space beside me, his hybrid making no sound except the soft hiss of tires on wet asphalt. He climbed out clutching a thermos that steamed when he opened his car door.
I rolled down my passenger window. "Get in before you drown."
He slid into the seat beside me. His hair was damp, and water droplets clung to his eyelashes.
"So this is where the magic happens," Miles said, peering through the rain-streaked windshield at the building. "Very corporate dystopia meets suburban dental practice. I'm getting strong vibes of root canals and quarterly reports."
"Suite 418—this building," I said, pointing toward the doors. "Meridian Wellness Group. That's Riverside's parent company."
Miles unscrewed his thermos cap, releasing a cloud of coffee-scented steam. "Looks like a place where dreams die slowly, one performance review at a time. Are we sure this is right?"
"Corporate registration, business license, insurance filings—they all point here." I pulled out my notebook, fountain pen ready. "Whatever happened to Iris, it started in that building."
Miles took a sip of coffee, then another. "Okay, we're officially the world's least intimidating surveillance team. I'm half expecting someone to ask if we need directions to the real stakeout."
