The executive conference room on the twenty-eighth floor of Artemis Tower overlooked half the city through a wall of glass. Late morning sunlight spilled across the polished table and reflected off several open laptops, stacks of reconstruction reports, and enough spreadsheets to make any reasonable person reconsider their career choices. Architectural drawings covered one side of the room while budget projections occupied the other.
Seraphina sat with her sleeves rolled up and a pen tucked behind one ear.
Across from her, Alistair looked like a man who had already regretted agreeing to this meeting three separate times.
Unfortunately for both of them, they still had several hours to go.
The reconstruction of Artemis Gallery after the various incidents over the past months had generated an absurd amount of documentation. Artemis had records. Vale had records. Contractors had records. Insurance companies had records.
