The Faded Alibi
The banquet hall of the Sterling Hotel shimmered under a canopy of crystal chandeliers, a sea of opulent light that seemed to drown the shadows in the corners of the room. It was the annual gala for the city’s industrial elite, a night of silk and steam, where the air was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, expensive perfume, and the metallic tang of ambition. Margaret Ashworth sat at the...
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