The Golden Circuit
The champagne was cold. Marcus held the glass. His hand shook. A single tremor. He stared at the bubbles. They rose. They popped. He counted them. One. Two. Three. The room hummed. It was a low, electric hum. The servers moved like ghosts. They carried trays. The silverware clinked. It was a sharp sound. It cut the air. This was the merger dinner. The room was large. High ceilings. Beams of...
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