DAMIEN'S POV
Vancouver in December was cold and clear and smelled like the ocean.
We flew up on a Wednesday morning. Elara had her folder, her camera, and the focused energy she carried when she was working toward something. She'd been in contact with the Vancouver lawyer and the potential manager, a woman named Claire Beaumont who met us at the airport with the efficiency of someone who respected other people's time.
Claire was fifty, sharp, had run a gallery in Montreal for twelve years before moving west. She knew everyone worth knowing in the Canadian contemporary art scene and spoke about the market the way Elara spoke about it, from genuine knowledge rather than performed expertise.
They got along immediately.
I stayed out of it.
The space was on a quiet street in Gastown, grou
