The Wistful Saga
The letter on my desk was cream-colored, heavy stock, the kind they used for termination notices or offers of settlement, and I held it until the paper warmed to the temperature of my palm. It was from the external auditors, dated three weeks ago, but it had sat in Director Vance’s drawer until this morning, when he slid it across the desk with the casual indifference of a man passing a sugar...
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