The Shadow of the Black Ledger
Rain in New York did not wash things clean. It made everything worse. It turned the soot on the buildings to a thick, gray paste that dripped from every cornice like the city was sweating something foul. Jack Morretti watched it from his third-floor window, the collar of his coat turned up against the draft that sneaked through the window frame no matter how many times he caulked it. The ledger...
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