The Pale Garden
The letter lay on the desk, its wax seal cracked like a dry riverbed. Arthur Vane stared at the ink, his hands trembling so violently he could not pick up the pen to reply. "Your position is suspended," the note read, "pending an internal review of irregularities in the Q3 ledgers." It was a polite way of saying he was a thief, a stain on the firm’s pristine reputation, a man of low birth who...
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