The Golden Suspect
"You're not coming back, are you?" Clara’s voice was thin, stripped of any warmth, hanging in the air of the kitchen like smoke from a extinguished fire. Elias Thorne did not look up from the letter in his hand. The paper was crisp, white, and final. It bore the seal of the First National Bank of Oakhaven, a logo that looked less like a symbol of trust and more like a cage. He had been staring...
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