I stood in front of a three-story building on Monday morning, wearing black slacks and a gray button-down shirt, with a paisley printed tie. I had a jacket over my left arm. I had no idea what I was getting into, so I’d dressed conservatively. There was a restaurant on the bottom floor, along with a UPS store, and dry cleaners. I couldn’t tell what was on the upper floors. Squaring my shoulders, I went up the steps to the main entrance and, once inside, located the directory. The suite number I needed was on the second floor, so I took the steps.
When I arrived, I blinked. Twice. I had looked up the address on my phone to get an idea of what I could expect, but there wasn’t much information beyond a low-key website, though the services came highly recommended, from the reviews I had perus
