The Golden Greenhouse
The ledger weighed four pounds. I knew this because I had carried it from the basement archive to my desk, up three flights of stairs, in the damp chill of November 1912. It was a standard Meridian Insurance Exchange bound volume, leather cracked at the spine, smelling of mildew and old dust. I set it down. The sound it made was a dull thud, heavy and final. I am Elias Thorne. I am forty-two...
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