The Golden Farce
The ledger had thirty-two entries to make before the shift ended, a task that required a steady hand and a mind unclouded by the tremors that had begun to seize Elias Thorne’s right wrist in the small hours. He counted the stamps on the inkpad, one, two, three, pressing the rubber down with a force that made his knuckles ache, trying to align the date with the column of names. The light from...
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