"Marcus, thank God you finally answered. I've been trying to reach you since the incident at the museum."
James Morrison stood at his office window overlooking Central Park.
"James. I wasn't expecting your call. I'm sorry I left without a word; a lot has been going on lately."
"You weren't expecting it? Marcus, you disappeared from a hospital in the middle of the night. There was a shooting and multiple casualties. The police have been asking me questions for three weeks." James ran his hand through his hair. "Of course I'm calling. I've been calling every number I have for you. This is the first time you've actually answered."
"I've been dealing with some things."
"What things? Talk to me. That's what friends do." James moved to his desk and sat down. "Start from the beginning. What happened at the museum?"
"Someone tried to kill me. It was a professional hit, with multiple shooters."
