“Think deeply on it and then forget about it. Later, the answer will come to you” was the advice he’d heard many years ago from a one-time mentor.

He wore a simple, fitted, blue-gray two button suit with a bow-tie and a french shirt he’d picked up on one of his trips to Paris. He had seen a man at a bar at the Louvre wearing the exact outfit. The man was slim and short, with grey hair and a close cropped beard. The man had a french bulldog along. The man reminded him of his father.

In his 57th floor office, he sprawled on the chaise, smoking a cigarette and drinking a black espresso wondering when the inspiration would come. A bead of sweat began to form on his brow, and he cursed silently. He always felt good until he began to sweat – then everything seemed to go to hell.

He was under the gun, and the forgetting part wasn’t coming so easy.