The Distant Promise
"It is not in the file, Eleanor." The words hung in the air, dry and sharp. I looked up from the ledger, my fingers stained with the grey dust of old paper. Mr. Sterling stood in the doorway of the basement archive, his tie perfectly knotted, his face a mask of polite impatience. I had spent three days in this cellar, sorting through the estate’s records, hoping to find proof that Arthur Thorne...
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