The Wistful Witness
The old bank on Main Street was a tomb of marble and glass. It had stood there since before the war, before the roads were paved, before the trees in the park had grown so thick they swallowed the sunlight. To the town of Oakhaven, it was simply The Bank. To Arthur, it was a cage. Arthur stood in the lobby, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of his briefcase. The air inside was cold...
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