Subdued today in a purple shadow, the office murmured its silent approval. He grabbed the bottle at his side and let the bitter, golden liquid push his leftover fears away. Fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling. His heart started a march of its own, lifting him, telling him it was the only way, the only way out.
Before another itch of doubt surfaced, he drained the bottle and starting typing, his hands moving expertly around the keyboard, his eyes focused on the numbers on the screen. A few zeroes here, a shift of a decimal there. Covering his tracks gave him bravado; hiding behind falsity gave him courage. He sat taller, breathed deeper, as he finished with a tap and click.
The answer was quick; the result was lethal. It was a long weekend and no one noticed until first light Tuesday, when his feet were already being warmed by the sea of a distant shore.
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