The Gala of Truth

The air in Julian’s private office tasted of ozone and expensive, dying ambition. Marcus Thorne was gone, his embezzlement exposed with clinical, surgical precision, yet the silence left in his wake wasn't the relief of victory. It was a vacuum. Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark, motionless silhouette against the city’s indifferent pulse. He didn't turn as Elara approached his desk, her fingers tracing the heavy, cream-colored envelope resting on the mahogany. It was a formal motion from the board: Termination of Engagement, Clause 14-B.

“They’re fast,” Elara said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline-fueled tremor in her hands. “They aren’t just distancing themselves from Marcus. They’re pur

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