CHAPTER 258: FIRST OFFICIAL ADDRESS AS PRIME MINISTERIAL CANDIDATE

In a quiet house near Chelsea Old Church, Savannah Chandler stirred awake from her afternoon nap. The councillor of The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea had grown accustomed to these moments of stillness. Politics had once consumed her, but now, in her later years, life often felt more like a gentle drift toward retirement.

Savannah’s journey had not begun in politics. She was once a schoolteacher, content with a quieter path. But after her father’s death, the party had pressed her to stand for his vacant council seat. Reluctantly, she joined politics and couldn’t leave. Her father’s reputation for honesty and his deep bond with the community carried her through election after election. She was his only child, and with his passing, all his legacy... both political and personal... had passed into her hands.

Over time, Savannah had carved her own popularity. Even when she had once thought of stepping down, her voters refused to let her go. She remained, the familiar face of the borough, even though the rival party always dominated national contests in her constituency.

Her private life, however, had grown quieter. Widowed young, she had raised her two children largely on her own. Her son, now a Major in the Army, had a family of his own. Her daughter had married an American Businessman and settled in Hawthorne, California. These days, the house often felt too big for one woman and her memories.

The shrill buzz of her mobile phone shattered the drowsy calm. She blinked, pushed her glasses onto her nose, and reached for the device on the side table. The call had been going for some time; it must have been what dragged her from sleep.

The screen lit up with a familiar name. Her daughter.

Savannah swiped to answer. Her voice was still heavy with sleep, threaded with sudden worry. "Hello, sweetie... has something happened? You’re calling this early."

On the other end came a light laugh. "No, Mom. It’s already past eight here. We’ve been up for hours."

Savannah exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Oh, good. Everything’s all right then. You usually don’t call me in the morning. So... what’s up?"

"Mom, something did happen. Have you heard of a company called Orionix SpaceTech?" her daughter asked.

Savannah frowned, rubbing at her temple as she searched her memory. "No... I don’t recall any name like Orionix."

"It’s a rising space company from the US," her daughter explained quickly. "Unlike the others, they never went public. So, no one really knows their value. But in rich circles, it’s believed the owner is secretly among the top ten richest people in the world. They live in the shadows. The point is... your son-in-law applied last month to supply space-grade stainless steel to them. Several bigger companies also bid, and honestly, we thought we had no chance."

"And?" Savannah prompted, sensing where this was heading.

"This morning," her daughter continued, voice trembling slightly, "a representative from Orionix came to our home. They said we could secure the contract privately."

Savannah’s brows lifted. "That is good news. Is that why you called?"

Her daughter’s voice sharpened. "Let me finish. The tender was originally for five hundred million dollars over five years. But Orionix has offered us a contract worth at least one billion... and they’ll pay a hundred million upfront, just for upgrading our facilities."

Savannah sat upright in her chair, her pulse quickening. "Why on earth would they do that?"

"That’s why I had to call you." There was a pause, then her daughter said in a lower voice, "They want you to run for the House of Commons in the upcoming election. The hundred million, they said, would also serve as campaign funds."

Savannah’s hand froze on the armrest. "What? Why would they want that? I’m just a councillor. This area has never been favourable for our party at the national level. If I run, I’ll most likely lose."

"I know, Mom." Her daughter’s voice wavered. "But the representative was clear. Orionix will give us a two-hundred-million contract for one year regardless. If you win, they’ll extend it for four more. That’s the condition."

"Did you ask what they want from me if I win the election? Such a vast amount... I am worried."

"I did." Her daughter hesitated. "He said they don’t want anything specific from you. Only that you support Lord Anthony Hayward Chapman unconditionally."

Savannah’s breath caught. "What? Are you telling me this envoy was sent by our party leader? Are you certain?"

"I’m not sure," her daughter admitted. "He said it was irrelevant for us to know. That we should only concern ourselves with the deal."

Savannah pressed her lips together, her mind turning swiftly. "That may be true... but what am I supposed to do? We already have a candidate here. Yes, he’s lost the last two elections, but his influence in the local party is far stronger than mine. If I put myself forward, I’ll make an enemy of him. If I lose, I’ll have no choice but to quit politics altogether."

"Mom," her daughter said softly, "you already wanted to quit three years ago. Would that really be so terrible? But if you win, our company will be secure... powerful even. With such a contract, we could move to the stock market. Please, Mom, do this for me... for your grandchildren. It’s just one more election. You’ve fought them before. I’ll cover the funds. And besides... if the party is willing to spend a hundred million on you, surely they have a plan for your victory. That’s not a small investment."

Savannah was silent for a long time, weighing her daughter’s plea against her instincts. Finally, she exhaled slowly. "Very well. I’ll do it. I never made money from politics anyway... if anything, I spent much of what Father left me. If becoming an MP helps you, then I’ll give it my best. What must I do?"

Her daughter’s voice brightened. "All they ask is that you voluntarily apply for the party nomination and prepare for campaign. They’ll handle the rest. And don’t worry, Mom... I asked again and again. They promised you won’t be asked to do anything that might ruin your reputation with the voters."

***

Over the past week, dozens of figures from every corner of society had been contacted in secrecy. Local councillors, political staffers, lifelong party supporters, members of noble families, solicitors, trade union officials, teachers, journalists, doctors, leaders from the charity sector, and retired military officers... all had received quiet invitations. Some were approached directly, others through relatives, and some through business partners. For many, the thought of ever standing for the House of Commons had never crossed their minds, and yet they were summoned all the same.

Even some ancient noble families, who had lost their titles and declined over time but remained popular in their regions, were contacted in secret. Many of them agreed to run for election after confirming that the party would provide funds for their campaigns.

A surprising number of them submitted applications. Their names appearing on the lists caused unease among local party leaders. Safe seats, marginal seats, even long-forgotten constituencies... it did not matter; all candidates were called to London for interview.

Three panels were established for the vetting process. Baron John Constantine, Baroness Angela Dodson, and Baron Ernest Prentice presided over them as chairs, each supported by five sitting MPs. Many strong candidates arrived with confidence, only to have their own pasts laid bare before them. Files of wrongdoing were produced... some petty, others severe enough that, if exposed, could end in prison sentences. One by one, they were forced into compromise. To protect their futures, they withdrew, allowing the central party to impose replacements in constituencies where victory was uncertain or where sitting MPs had to be removed.

When the approved candidate list was finally published, shock rippled through the grassroots. An astonishing number of constituencies were left with only a single name... candidates chosen not by local vote, but by central command.

Protests broke out. Local members voiced fury at being sidelined. Media outlets amplified their anger, and the ruling party pounced on the story, eager to sow division within the opposition ranks.

The situation demanded a response. To everyone’s surprise, it came from Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman himself. In his first official address as Prime Ministerial candidate, he confronted the matter head-on. He declared that the replacements were not arbitrary but necessary. Many of the predecessors had failed... through incompetence, declining popularity, or worse, suspected corruption.

"The Stockport Scandal taught us bitter lessons," Baron Chapman said, his voice carried across airwaves. "This party cannot repeat the sins of complacency. The people demand reform, and reform we have delivered. Where there was weakness, we replaced it. Where there was dishonour, we cleansed it. And where there is doubt, we will remain vigilant."

He invited the public to scrutinise the new candidates themselves. "If anyone possesses proof of wrongdoing of our selected candidates, send it to the party. If verified, we will act without delay. We will change candidates, because this movement belongs not to individuals... but to the kingdom."