The Wistful Mountain
The pen in Elias Thorne’s hand did not tremble with fear, but with the visceral, primal urge to crush the ledger before him, a force that rose from the soles of his feet and settled in the center of his chest like a stone dropped into still water. He stood in the center of the Grand Meridian Exchange, a room of polished mahogany and glass that reflected his own distorted, aging face back at...
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