The Faded Road
The document was a standard Form 14-B, printed on heavy, cream-colored stock that felt like leather against Arthur Vane’s damp palms. He held it up to the gray light of the corridor, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers, the dates, the cold, precise handwriting of the clerk who had filled it out only minutes before. The sum was final. The interest had compounded while Thomas sat in the...
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