The Unknown: The Red Line
  What fabulous party in which high-rise were you dreaming about, Marla? You wake up in a hotel room you don't recognize. You are hung over, and still wearing your skirt, lying on top of the covers. As you stumble to the bathroom, loosening your necklace, you check your pockets to make sure you have your keys, wallet, cell phone, and you look for clues. A business card. And you remember: this is the person you were drinking with last night, the person who represents a large organization, the organization that is going to buy The Unknown. Finally, taking it and the other Unknown off your hands.

Making you rich? Probably not.

Successful? Probably not.

But finished, forever freed of the Unknown? Yes.

You splash cold water on your face, tear the plastic off a hotel glass, and try to force down an ibuprofin.

You fail.



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