The Golden Suspect
The ledger lay open on the scarred oak desk, its pages stiff with the dust of decades and the invisible weight of numbers that no longer added up, and Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair as if the wood had grown into his spine, his fingers resting lightly on the cold leather cover, feeling the pulse of the building through the floorboards, a rhythmic thrum that sounded less like the...
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