The Golden Suspect
Chapter One Nazario Quintero’s hands were already deep in the mortar when the magistrate arrived, the trowel scraping against the rough brick with a sound like a dry cough. The ancestral hall of the Quintero estate smelled of wet dust and the sharp, metallic tang of the quarry lake outside, a blue so unnatural it looked painted on the air. He was thirty-two, an architect by trade, though the...
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