The Golden Suspect
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its edges crisp against the grain, the ink still wet with the smell of iron gall and finality. You read it twice, the words blurring not from fatigue but from the sudden, sharp heat rising in your throat. It was a dismissal notice, drafted in the firm’s usual dry hand, citing "incompatibility of temperament" and "irregularities in the audit trail." You...
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