The Golden Suspect
The rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the City Hall, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very stone of the floor beneath my feet. I stood in the center of the main archive room, my hand resting on the cold iron railing of the mezzanine, watching the water streak the glass in long, chaotic lines. It was a Tuesday, the kind of gray, suffocating day that makes...
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