The Weight of the Crown Jennifer’s POV The luncheon was held in a massive, open...air pavillion...a traditional Javanese pavilion supported by towering, intricately carved teak pillars that had probably stood for centuries and centuries. The roof vaulted high into the humid air, but underneath, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of roasted spices, expensive tobacco, and old, immovable power. Setyo Triatmodjo sat at the head of a long, solid mahogany table that could easily seat thirty people. He was a frail-looking man in his early eighties draped in a flawlessly tailored silk shirt, but his eyes were sharp as flint. Surrounding him were six of his top board executives—all older men, all holding themselves with the rigid, unyielding posture of traditionalists who viewed the corporate world as a blood sport. Lucas sat to Setyo’s right, and I was placed directly next to Lucas. The weight of his hand had left my lower back the moment we sat...but the ghost of that heat
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