The Pale Bonsai
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the paper crisp and smelling of industrial ink. It was from the Audit Committee of the National Botanical Registry. My valuation of the Pale Bonsai, the specimen I had nurtured for twenty years, was flagged as fraudulent. I sat at my workbench, the laser cutter humming its low, electric drone in the corner. Elena stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her...
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