The Golden Myth
The document was a single sheet of standard white paper, the kind that feeds through the high-speed printers in the sub-basement of the federal building. It was thin, dry, and smelled faintly of toner and ozone. Elias Thorne held it with both hands, his knuckles white, the paper trembling slightly as if it were a living thing trying to slip away. He read it three times. The words did not...
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