Thirty-EightRick Stevenson ended the attempted call, tossing the handset onto the coffee table. He stood, taking his mug from the shiny surface in front of him. He walked through the lounge of his apartment, standing next to the floor to ceiling window that looked out over a grey Hamburg. Rick took a sip of his drink, his mind trying to figure out what was going on. He was not like his brother. Jake was impulsive, relying on gut instinct. Rick was process-driven. He relied on facts and figures before deciding on anything. His blue eyes scanned the cityscape in front of him, taking in the wonderful architecture and the natural beauty of the Lake Alster. Normally, he would drink in this Germanic sight, feeling lucky and smug that all this was his. Not today though. He'd tried contacting both
