The Golden Oath
The ink on the ledger was still wet, a dark smear against the cream paper, when I felt the weight of the oak roots in my veins. I held the pen, a simple steel nib that had served me for ten years, but my hand did not obey the muscle memory of the clerk. It trembled, a low, rhythmic shudder that matched the pulse in my temples. Outside the window of the Meridian Bank’s fourth-floor office, the...
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