The Golden Harbor
The ledger lay open on the mahogany desk, the ink still wet, counting the hours of labor, the tons of coal, the shillings owed to men who would never see their wages. Captain Elias Thorne stared at the figures, forty-two years of his life reduced to a column of debits and credits, the air in the boardroom thick with the smell of beeswax and old sweat. Outside the tall windows, the harbor water...
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