The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-22 07:34:35 -

The Distant Ghost

The ledger room smelled of damp chalk and old ink, a scent that had seeped into the very grain of the oak desk where I sat, my hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the numbers. I was Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a coal merchant who had built his name on the black veins of the earth, and I was here to sell the family mine to Arthur Hartwell, the man who had...

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