The Politeness of Theft (V-09)
The conference room was a vacuum of white light and silence. There were no windows, only a seamless expanse of frosted glass and a table made of a single slab of polished obsidian. We sat opposite each other—two men in charcoal suits, our expressions as neutral as the walls. "I believe we have a discrepancy in the amortization schedule," Julian said. His voice was a soft, precise instrument,...
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