"Still got the seal," Arthur whispered, wiping a smudge off the glass.
It was a sleek, smoky glass bottle with a gold-tone pourer, shaped like something a mid-century detective would keep in a locked desk drawer. Arthur remembered his father pouring three fingers of bourbon into a heavy crystal glass every Christmas Eve, the liquid catching the firelight. jim beam decanter buy
Arthur smiled. He didn't just sell a piece of glass; he sold a memory. A week later, he received a photo: the decanter, filled with amber bourbon, sitting proudly on a mahogany shelf next to an old black-and-white portrait of a man who looked just like Elias. "Still got the seal," Arthur whispered, wiping a