The Golden Mirror
The ledger was forged, but the ink was fresh, and that was a detail Elias Thorne intended to exploit. He tapped the page with a manicured fingernail, the sound sharp in the silence of the Duke’s study, a room that smelled of old paper and expensive rot. "You see, Your Grace," Thorne said, his voice light, almost playful, "Arthur has been skimming the cream. Three hundred pounds, gone into the...
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