The Wistful Incense
The quarterly audit was not merely an inspection; it was a dissection, a surgical incision into the soft, fleshy underbelly of our financial projections, and I sat in my glass-walled office on the forty-second floor of Meridian Life, watching the rain streak down the windows like the tears of a god who had forgotten how to weep, while my hands, steady as a metronome, signed the final adjustment...
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