The fallout from Moreau’s execution washed over the city like a quiet, toxic tide.
Forty-eight hours had passed since the blood in the Bogor estate dried. The European Council had gone dark, reeling from the sudden, brutal decimation of their most prominent senior member in Southeast Asia. The message had been received loud and clear: Jakarta was no longer an open market for foreign aristocrats.
In the glass tower of Vance Corporation, life appeared deceptively normal. The media reported Moreau’s death as a tragic heart failure during a private retreat, while Gabriel de la Cruz had officially resigned from all corporate boards, vanishing into exile under heavy guard.
I sat behind the sprawling mahogany desk on the executive floor—not in the assistant's chair, but in the center seat.
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