The Distant Whispers
The water in my office was ankle-deep, a murky brown slurry that smelled of wet plaster and old paper, and it was rising. I stood there in my socks, shivering not from the cold but from the sudden, violent clarity of what I was looking at. The storm had broken the seal on the sub-basement vents, a structural failure the firm had ignored for a decade, and now the flood had exposed the...
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