The Golden Ritual
The letter lay open on the mahogany desk, the ink still wet and black as a bruise, detailing the liquidation of the Whitmore estate assets and the immediate removal of the minor heir from the family trust. Arthur Whitmore, twelve years old and thin as a rail, read it twice, the paper trembling in his small, ink-stained hands, while the gas lamps in the corners of the study hissed with a low,...
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