The Faded Alibi
The ledger lay open on the attic floorboards, its spine cracked and stiff with age. Twelve years of entries, each one a small, precise wound in the paper. Elias counted the lines. Forty-three. He held his breath until his lungs burned, then exhaled slowly, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light cutting through the window. The numbers did not add up. They never did. But the...
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