Standing on the rain-slicked corner of 53rd Street and Lexington Avenue, Daniel dialed Marcus Vane’s burner number from a newly purchased prepaid cellular device. His hand trembled slightly as the rain dripped from the brim of his cashmere overcoat onto the cheap plastic keypad. The phone rang three times before Marcus answered, his voice devoid of warmth, sounding like a knife sliding across polished slate. 'You were told to maintain…
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