The Distant Temple
The champagne was warm, which was the first sign that the party had already failed, and Arthur Vane, standing near the potted fern in the corner of the Meridian Insurance Group’s executive suite, felt the liquid warmth of the glass seep into his sweating palms as he raised it to his lips. The room was a cacophony of overlapping voices, the clatter of crystal against porcelain, and the low,...
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