The Golden Visit
The gold dust tasted of iron and old blood. I spat it into the napkin, the fine particles clinking softly against the porcelain of my cup, while Director Vance raised his glass to the chandelier. The Sterling Foundation’s annual gala was in full swing, a sea of silk and ambition swirling around the mahogany tables, but I could only hear the wet, rhythmic breathing of the walls. They were...
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