The Golden Maze
"You’re going to burn the whole thing down, aren’t you?" The voice was not loud, but it cut through the humid air of the warehouse with the precision of a blade. I did not look up from the ledger. My pen moved in steady, mechanical arcs, recording the weight of the grain, the moisture content, the price per bushel. I was a man of numbers, of balances struck and debited. I had spent thirty years...
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