The Golden Suspect
The crate weighed two hundred and forty pounds, a precise load that Elias Thorne had calculated to the ounce before his hands ever touched the varnished wood, and he knew with the bone-deep certainty of a man who had spent twenty years weighing the world’s illicit cargo that something was wrong with the mass distribution, the center of gravity sitting too far to the left, a subtle dissonance in...
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