The Golden Visit
The hand of Elias Thorne was buried in the soot of the ledger, the black dust working its way into the whorls of his fingerprints, a grimy testament to the hours he had spent tracing the missing line of account that haunted the Ironworks’ books. It was the year 1893, a season of soot and steam where the air in the mill town of Blackwood hung heavy with the smell of sulfur and wet wool, and...
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