The Wistful Witness
The ledger lay open on the mahogany desk, its pages thick with the red ink of deficit, and Clara Vane counted the lines with a trembling finger, calculating the precise weight of her failure. There were forty-two sacks of cotton left in the warehouse, twelve broken looms awaiting repair, and a debt to the bank that had grown so large it felt less like a number and more like a physical weight...
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