The Golden Suspect
The ledger lay open on the mahogany desk, its pages stiff with the dust of the archives, and you pressed the nib of your pen to the paper, the ink pooling in the grain like a dark bruise that refused to dry. You were Arthur Vane, a senior clerk in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, thirty-four years old, and your left hand was trembling so violently that the crossbar of your signature slanted...
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