The Malone Gambit
The rain fell on Chicago like it always did in November—cold, persistent, indifferent. Miles Malone sat in his office above a laundromat on South State Street and stared at the bottle of bourbon on his desk. It was 2 PM. He had been staring at it for three hours.The case file in front of him was thin. Seven missing persons. All of them wealthy. All of them last seen entering a building on the...
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