Michael had reached the apotheosis of his career, New York Times Bestselling Author three books in a row but he felt deflated. Stuck in an apartment on the nice side of Vienna with money in his bank account, he still didn't have want he yearned for so deeply - fame. He was an implacable character in one of his crime mystery books, unable to be appeased by the finest of rewards, the greatest of achievements.
As he looked out of his open window to the beginnings of a wet autumn morning, he reached for his coffee and missed, knocking it off the windowsill, out of sight.There was the sound of breaking glass, but dulled, as though it had hit something... he looked over the edge to see a fallen pedestrian on the pavement. Some people went to the person's aid and soon two Policemen appeared. One of them looked up and Michael dived inside.
Some minutes later, his doorbell rang. "Sir! This is the Police. We would like to ask you a few questions," said a voice from behind his door.
Could this be it? Fame at last? The Police, an arrest, a court appearance? The headlines? He smiled with ecstasy.