The Distant Whispers
The audit was due in forty minutes. Mara sat in the glass-walled office on the forty-second floor. The city sprawled below, a grid of cold light and moving veins. She tapped her pen against the mahogany desk. *Click. Click. Click.* The sound was a metronome for her anxiety. The file lay open. It was thin. Suspiciously thin. "Did you review the Q3 projections?" The voice came from the doorway....
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