The Golden Maze
The ledger is open on the desk, the ink still wet, a dark smear against the cream paper. You are looking at the numbers, but you do not see them. You see the face of your brother, Thomas, and the way he looked when he sold the first lot of timber to the men from the city. You remember the smell of the varnish, the sharp chemical bite of it, and the way it coated the tongue. It has been three...
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