The Golden Downtown
The elevator doors slid shut with a hydraulic sigh, sealing Dr. Elias Thorne in a steel box that smelled of ozone and old wool. He stood in the corner, his fingers trembling against the button for the penthouse, a small, white-knuckled gesture that betrayed the composure he had spent thirty years cultivating. The car rose, a slow ascent through the strata of the building, each floor passing...
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