The man in the gray hoodie waited patiently across the street from the small but luxurious office building. It was 6:30. He felt that he probably didn’t have long to wait. Three minutes later, a middle-aged woman in a fake leopard skin coat came out of the door, shuddered against the cold, and walked down the street swiftly.
The man stubbed out his cigarette and shifted his weight. Another few minutes, he thought.
Less than five minutes later, he walked purposely across the street toward the office building, a black briefcase swaying in his hand. He stopped and waited again. While looking out toward the street to check for passersby, he tried the front door. It was open. He quickly stepped inside.
It was an elegant waiting room, but completely empty. On the far side, he could see the entrance to what he assumed was Morgenstern’s office. He walked swiftly but quietly across the room and stopped at the doorway. He paused for a few seconds, and then took two steps into the room.
Morgenstern looked up as he saw the man standing just inside the doorway to his office. “Excuse me, sir,” he said angrily. “We’re closed for business. If you want to arrange an appointment with me, you’re going to have to come back or call after 10:00 a.m. tomorrow and set up an appointment with my secretary. I can’t possibly see you now.” Morgenstern immediately lowered his head and returned his focus to the papers lying on his desk.
The man walked slowly into Morgenstern’s office. “This won’t take long,” he said.
Morgenstern scowled. “It won’t take any time at all, Mr. Whoever you are, because I’m not about to have a discussion with you about anything at this time. So if you don’t mind, vacate my office immediately or I won’t see you tomorrow or any day under any circumstances.”
“You have something I’m very interested in.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re interested in. Get out of my office before I call the police.”
“It’s a little late for that,” said the man in the hoodie, raising his gun slowly as he walked toward Morgenstern’s desk.
“What the hell do you think…”
The bullet hit him in the forehead, slightly to the right of center. Morgenstern fell forward on his desk, his arms shooting out at awkward angles.
The man walked over to Morgenstern’s desk and quickly rifled through the folders and portfolios lying there. Within seconds, he grabbed one of them, gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and then placed it in the briefcase he was carrying.
He walked quickly out through the reception area and into the street.