The Faded Alibi
The summons came not by letter but by the heavy, wet thud of a boot against the doorframe, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards of the small apartment on Elm Street. Elias Thorne did not look up from the ledger he was balancing, his eyes fixed on the column of inked figures that had consumed his mornings for four years. He knew the weight of that footfall. It belonged to Director Vane,...
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