The Legacy of Dust
The champagne flowed like a river of liquid gold at the Plaza Hotel, but Julian Thorne could only taste the metallic tang of his own fatigue. Around him, the Roaring Twenties were in full scream—flappers in sequined dresses dancing to a frantic jazz beat, men in tuxedoes shouting about the next big stock tip. It was the peak of the era, and Julian was its undisputed architect. He had built an...
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