The Silent Dividend
The jazz of 1924 New York was a frantic, glittering mask worn by a city that had forgotten how to sleep. For Julian Thorne, the music was a dirge. Julian sat in the penthouse of the Thorne Plaza, a cathedral of Art Deco chrome and velvet. At twenty-six, he was the sovereign of a financial empire that functioned like a great, invisible lung, inhaling the fortunes of the Midwest and exhaling...
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