The Golden Cellar
The truck’s engine ticked in the cold, a metallic heartbeat fading into the dark of the pine forest. Elias Thorne sat behind the wheel, his hands resting on the steering column, fingers numb from the December air that had crept in through the cracked window. He was a man of few words, a forensic accountant for the federal bureau, a title that sounded precise but felt hollow now that the case...
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