The Faded Alibi
The letter lay flat on the mahogany desk, its edges curling slightly where the humidity of the room had seeped into the paper, a bureaucratic instrument of dismissal drafted in the cold, precise script of the board of directors. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the dining hall, a glass of champagne trembling in his hand, the liquid inside sloshing against the rim with a chaotic, liquid...
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