In the top-floor reception hall of the Golden Sail Commerce Association headquarters.
The blended aroma of sea salt and spices was sealed in by heavy velvet curtains.
On the long table, the ice in the crystal glasses had long since melted, leaving only a few drops of condensation to slowly trace paths down their sides.
Beside the crystal glass was a half-eaten plate of something baked to a golden crisp.
Caroline Channing's fingertips tapped lightly against the reflective Black Ebony Wood tabletop, producing a rhythmic, insistent sound.
Across from her, the three representatives from different port cities all wore grim expressions.
"Your Excellency, Vice-President, your terms are, if I may be blunt, far too harsh."
