[Chilton considered, for a moment, that Jeff might be prone to histrionic tendencies. The sunglasses were duly noted, as was the dramatic handling of that coffee -- all elements, Chilton presumed, for the routine performance of Jeff Winger's life. Insecurity would be an ideal bone to pick in this psyche, but Chilton knew he'd have to bide his time for a more effective influence; the drugs had to come first.]

All right, Jeff. It'll be fine.

[Chilton reached into his interior breast pocket of his suited jacket, and pulled out the neatly folded papered prescription. He had decided on a benzodiazepine, as the obscure medical name might dissuade Jeff from investigating it too thoroughly.]

This is enough for three weeks, no refill. I want you to check back in with me after that period. If it's working, I'll continue issuing you a dosage.

Agreed?