The Whistleblower's Price
The rain in New York didn't wash the city clean; it only turned the grime into a slick, iridescent skin that coated everything. Marcus sat in his cubicle on the 14th floor of the District Administration Building, the blue light of his monitor reflecting in his tired eyes. He was a low-level auditor, a man whose entire existence was defined by the movement of decimals. For six months, Marcus had...
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