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whose name was on the glass door.
Curled up under a coat, using a stack of IRS manuals as a pillow.
My back ached.
My eyes burned.
I could not sleep.
Three monitors glowed in the dark, casting long blue shadows across the room.
Center screen: my former bank account—empty.
Left screen: tracking software following the money Brad was hemorrhaging.
Right screen:continue reading …
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