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- Herausgeber: Twist & Tether Press
- Sprache: Englisch
Detective Serena Voss built her career on the pursuit of justice—until one compromised case fractured her resolve and left her haunted by a single, unforgivable choice. Years later, a string of vigilante killings grips the city, each victim a figure who once escaped the law. The signature is always the same: a blood-red ledger left at the scene, each page recording their unpunished crimes.
As public opinion sways in favor of the unknown executioner, Serena races to uncover the truth behind the Ledger Community—an underground movement that operates beyond police control. But when one of the ledgers arrives on her desk with her own name written in ink, the hunt turns personal.
Now forced to confront her buried guilt, Serena must navigate a dangerous web of secrets, moral ambiguity, and shifting loyalties. Each clue she uncovers draws her closer to the enigmatic mastermind, whose motivations may not be as clear as they seem.
As the lines between justice and vengeance blur, Serena faces the ultimate question: How far will she go to atone for the sins of her past—before the ledger writes her final chapter?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Red Ledger
Some Debts Can’t Be Paid with Money
TURNING POINTS: Twisted Tales for the Bold & Curious
Margot Elise Winters
Copyright © 2025 by Margot Elise Winters
All rights reserved. This book, including all individual stories and original content, is protected under international copyright law. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from the author, except for brief excerpts used in reviews or academic commentary, which must be properly credited.
Fiction Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Creative Tools Notice:
Some aspects of this book including cover artwork, illustrations, or other visual and creative elements were developed with the assistance of licensed generative technologies under appropriate commercial-use terms. These elements are original compositions intended solely for this publication.
Thank you for reading this book. I hope you enjoy every page inside.
Table of Contents
Red Ledger
Description
Prologue: The Debt Begins
Chapter 1: Ledger One
Chapter 2: A Pattern in Red
Chapter 3: Whispers of the Past
Chapter 4: The Ledger Community
Chapter 5: Closing In
Chapter 6: Serena’s Ledger
Chapter 7: The Hand Behind the Ledger
Epilogue: A Ledger Closed or Opened?
Red Ledger
Description
Detective Serena Voss built her career on the pursuit of justice until one compromised case fractured her resolve and left her haunted by a single, unforgivable choice. Years later, a string of vigilante killings grips the city, each victim a figure who once escaped the law. The signature is always the same: a blood-red ledger left at the scene, each page recording their unpunished crimes.
As public opinion sways in favor of the unknown executioner, Serena races to uncover the truth behind the Ledger Community an underground movement that operates beyond police control. But when one of the ledgers arrives on her desk with her own name written in ink, the hunt turns personal.
Now forced to confront her buried guilt, Serena must navigate a dangerous web of secrets, moral ambiguity, and shifting loyalties. Each clue she uncovers draws her closer to the enigmatic mastermind, whose motivations may not be as clear as they seem.
As the lines between justice and vengeance blur, Serena faces the ultimate question: How far will she go to atone for the sins of her past before the ledger writes her final chapter?
Prologue: The Debt Begins
The Girl in the Gallery
The courtroom smelled of old wood polish and newer lies. Rows of bodies filled the pews, all dressed too sharply for a trial meant to expose ugliness. On the left, journalists shifted in their seats, notebooks ready to rewrite whatever version of truth the judge delivered. On the right, a solitary girl no one noticed hunched into her coat, her hair tucked beneath a faded gray cap.
She had been there for every day of the trial, always sitting in the gallery’s rear corner, always alone. Nobody asked who she was. Nobody cared. She kept her gaze low and her presence smaller still.
Now, as the judge cleared his throat and the court fell silent, her fingers curled into fists beneath her lap.
The defendant Richard Malden sat at the defense table, flanked by his high-powered lawyers. He wore a tailored suit, a smirk barely suppressed beneath expensive cologne. The girl stared at the back of his neck, where dark hair met pale skin, where a single drop of sweat now traced a line toward his collar.
He was sweating. He knew the truth, even if the court would not.
“On the count of aggravated assault,” the judge intoned, voice flat, “the jury finds the defendant... not guilty.”
A collective exhale rippled through the room. Reporters scribbled. Cameras clicked. Malden exhaled in relief, leaned toward his attorneys. The girl heard the faint sound of a celebratory chuckle.
Her chest burned.
Not guilty. Of course. Money had bought freedom again.
She rose before the room could dissolve into chatter and turned toward the doors. No one stopped her. No one cared that she moved stiffly, head low. If they had looked, they might have noticed the glisten in her eyes not grief. Not sorrow. Something older. More bitter.
Outside, the sky was overcast, the courthouse steps slick with morning rain. She walked three blocks without lifting her gaze, weaving between gray-clad strangers until a narrow alley swallowed her.
At its end stood a door with peeling red paint. She pressed her palm against it, waited. An old man’s eyes peered through a sliding slot. Recognition flickered. No words exchanged. The door opened.
Inside, the basement air was cool and metallic. Filing cabinets lined the walls, dusty boxes stacked high. In one corner stood a battered wooden desk.
The girl approached it, peeled off her cap, and sat. For a moment, she simply stared ahead, vision swimming.
You failed her. You failed again.
Her hand reached for the desk’s middle drawer, pulling it open with a groan. Inside lay a wrapped bundle of paper. She unrolled it: a blank ledger, bound in faded red leather. A single pen metallic, heavy lay atop it.
She removed the pen. Unscrewed the cap. Its ink was deep crimson, thick and gleaming.
Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the first line. Then stilled.
She wrote:
Richard Malden
A single tear streaked her cheek as she drew the line beneath his name.
You couldn’t save her. But you will settle this debt.
***
Years passed. The girl became a young woman.
Names filled the ledger. Carefully chosen. Researched. Verified. One by one, debts recorded not just against her own pain, but against the invisible weight of others crushed beneath the same system.
Her nights were spent in archives, in court records, in whispered exchanges with the disillusioned and the damned. She built something in the shadows a small network of eyes and hands. Not an army. A chorus of the forgotten.
But each name added left a scar. Each debt collected drew her deeper into a space where no forgiveness lived.
She told herself it was justice.
It has to be. Because if it isn’t what am I becoming?
Still, the ledger grew.
***
On a cold autumn evening, she sat again before the old desk. Candlelight flickered against the room’s damp stone walls. A fresh page lay before her.
Her hand hovered, pen poised. Yet the name that pressed against her mind refused to be written.
Serena Voss.
The detective’s file was thick with contradictions. Years of service. Commendations. Yet one case buried deep one Serena had once fought for, then let fall beneath institutional pressure.
She didn’t mean to fail. But she did. And the girl paid for it. I paid for it.
The woman’s throat tightened.
She’s trying now. I see it. She still fights.
But guilt whispered louder.
Intentions don’t erase harm. Debts must be settled.
Her hand trembled as she wrote:
