The Golden Suspect
The ledger weighed four pounds, twelve ounces, and three days of silence. You counted the pages as you bound them, the sound of the paper rustling against the desk like the dry rasp of a dying lung. Outside, the rain hammered against the High Street windows of the Home Office, a relentless, industrial drumming that turned the afternoon into a gray blur of noise. You were Elias Thorne,...
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