The phone rang, causing Adam to look up from his book. He’d thought of disconnecting the troublesome thing before, in situations like this; being ripped from the depths of a good story to speak to someone likely bearing bad news. He grasped at the phone, letting a sigh escape him.

“Hello?” he mumbled into the handset. He ran a hand through messy red-brown hair and took off his glasses.

“Adam Hoover? I have a business venture that I believe you’ll be interested in,” spouted the other end, an unbroken string of heavily accented, quickly spoken words. Adam couldn’t place the accent, and although it screamed scam to him, he played along for another chance.

“And what is this venture?” Adam’s question sounded slow-motion compared to the other voice.

“A bookstore. It won’t cost you any more than the price of the books you stock with. I’ll even run it with you,” flowed the reply. This was beginning to sound real, never mind the unplaceable accent. But he seemed to want the deal sealed and over with. Why?