The Golden Visit
The brass key in your hand is cold, colder than the air conditioning that hums through the vents of the conference room, and you realize with a dull, throbbing ache in your temples that you have been gripping it so tightly that the metal has bitten into the skin of your palm. "Please, sit down, Mara. We have time for this." The HR director, a man named Mr. Halloway whose suit is pressed with a...
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