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 him. 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 check. I folded my hands on the table. "Actually, I'm here about the proposed moratorium." The warmth draine