The Golden Suspect
Act I Dorothy Aldridge, forty-two years old and the sole keeper of the Grand Hotel’s ledgers, stood alone in the ballroom where the gold leaf was peeling like dead skin, her head throbbing with a pain so sharp it felt as if a nail were being driven slowly into her temple. The air in the room was heavy with damp plaster and old varnish, a scent that had defined her life for twenty years but now...
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