Chapter 295

The hotel conference room smelled faintly of coffee and air freshener. Gerard Haldane was already there, seated at the head of the table. He rose when I walked in, his hand extended, his politician’s smile warm and well-rehearsed. ‘Miss Vance,’ he said, as if we were old friends. ‘Daniel tells me you are quite the designer. I must admit, I expected someone… older. Please, sit.’ He gestured to a chair opposite. His voice was smooth, the sort that had charmed donors and constituents for decades. I smiled politely and took the seat. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’ ‘For Daniel’s friends, always,’ Haldane said. His eyes flicked over me, quick and assessing. ‘Now, how can I help? Were you thinking of making a contribution to the commissioner’s fund? We welcome support from the creative sector, especially one as talented as you.’ So that was it. He thought I was here to write a cheque. I folded my hands on the table. ‘Actually, I’m here about the proposed moratorium.’ The warmth drained f