The Distant Wound
The discrepancy in the ledger was not a smudge of ink or a misaligned column of figures, but a deliberate subtraction, a void in the accounting where Elias Thorne’s father’s pension should have been flowing into the family trust like water into a dry well. Elias, a forty-two-year-old archivist in the Ministry of Records, sat in the sterile, gray corridor of the sub-basement, the fluorescent...
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