The Golden Song
The memo was printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, the kind that felt like velvet against the fingertips before it became a wall. It sat on the stainless steel prep table, cold and final, bearing the club’s crest in gold foil that had begun to peel at the edges. You read it twice, the words blurring into a single, jagged line of bureaucratic failure. "Pending Review: Professional Misconduct."...
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