The Pale Meridian
The rain in the financial district did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the granite steps of the Meridian Insurance Building into a treacherous, dark mirror. Elias Thorne stood in the lobby, the wet wool of his coat heavy on his shoulders, clutching a manila folder that contained three years of his life’s work. He was forty-two, a senior actuary whose face had...
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