It was past seven on a chilly autumn evening when she arrived.
The restaurant, Maison du Jardin, was nestled in the heart of the city, glowing with golden chandeliers and the soft tinkle of piano notes in the air. Inside, every table was dressed in white linen and flickering candlelight. Wealthy couples sipped imported wine. Laughter came in measured tones. It was a place where businessmen sealed deals over truffle risotto, and socialites captured their meals on gold-trimmed iPhones.
