The Ghost in the Glass
I remember the first time I saw him truly move. Julian Vance had been the joke of the Upper East Side for three years. A bankrupt scion with a vacant gaze and a penchant for staring at walls. As his personal assistant, my job was primarily to ensure he didn't wander into traffic or forget to eat. I treated him with the kind of pity one reserves for a wounded animal. Then came the Tuesday in...
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