The Pale Letter
The light was failing, the way it does in late November when the sun refuses to clear the eaves, and you stood before the ledger, your finger tracing the ink as if it were a vein in a dead hand, while the silence in the office grew thick enough to choke on. You had wanted the Senior Auditor post for three years, a want that had calcified into a necessity, a brick in the foundation of the life...
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