The Wistful Dinner
The ink was wet. Elias Thorne held the ledger page up to the fluorescent light, his breath catching in a throat that felt too tight for the room. The date was three days before Mayor Halloway’s funeral. The signature was Halloway’s, but the handwriting was Elias’s. The order was simple: demolish the old mill. The paper was yellowed, brittle, and smelled of damp earth, yet the ink glistened,...
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