The Golden Suspect
The glass cracked first. Not the window, but the large, ornate mirror that dominated the wall of the interrogation room. A hairline fracture, thin as a spider’s web, ran from the top left corner to the center. Then it stopped. The man in the chair, Thomas Bradshaw, did not flinch. He sat with his hands cuffed to the steel table, his gray suit wrinkled at the elbows, his eyes fixed on the...
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