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He touched the surface through the plastic. It was firm, yet yielded under his thumb. The internet, it seemed, had kept its promise.

He clicked a result for a Wagyu-cross center-cut fillet. The price made him wince, but the photo was a masterpiece of marbling—delicate white webs spun through deep crimson muscle. "Add to cart," he muttered.

Thursday came with a thunderstorm. Arthur paced the foyer, watching the rain pelt the driveway. At 7:45 PM, a white van splashed to the curb. A courier sprinted to the porch, dropped a heavy, silver-insulated box, and disappeared back into the deluge.