The Wistful Dinner
The pen in Elias’s hand was a cheap ballpoint, the kind the firm handed out in bulk, its plastic casing worn smooth by the friction of ten thousand signatures. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, the tip hovering a millimeter above the carbon copy of the Meridian Tower contract, the ink dry and brittle against the paper. Outside the glass walls of his office, the London afternoon was a...
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