The Aleph Inheritance
The lawyer died before he could explain it, which I suppose was the point. When the notice arrived—on cream-colored stock, bearing the seal of Whitmore, Voss & Cross, Estate Attorneys—I was at a party in Westchester, drinking gin that cost more per bottle than most men earn in a year and pretending that the emptiness in my chest was merely a side effect of the champagne. "Mr. St. Clair," the...
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