The Golden Downtown
The ledger in your hand weighs three pounds, a dense block of leather and paper that smells of ozone and old iron filings, and you count the entries for the third time because the numbers do not add up, not in the way the ink wants them to, but in the way the law requires. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a sergeant of the border patrol in the smog-choked industrial city of Kettering,...
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