The Boardroom

Copyright © 2023 by Jack Gatland / Tony Lee All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, unless for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, places of learning, events or locales is entirely coincidental. * * * Published by Hooded Man Media. Cover design by L1graphics First Edition: February 2023 PRAISE FOR JACK GATLAND ‘This is one of those books that will keep you up past your bedtime, as each chapter lures you into reading just one more.’ ‘This book was excellent! A great plot which kept you guessing until the end.’ ‘Couldn’t put it down, fast paced with twists and turns.’ ‘The story was captivating, good plot, twists you never saw and really likeable characters. Can't wait for the next one!’ ‘I got sucked into this book from the very first page, thoroughly enjoyed it, can't wait for the next one.’ ‘Totally addictive. Thoroughly recommend.’ ‘Moves at a fast pace and carries you along with it.’ ‘Just couldn't put this book down, from the first page to the last one it kept you wondering what would happen next.’ There’s a new Detective Inspector in town… Before The Boardroom, there was DI Declan Walsh! An EXCLUSIVE PREQUEL, completely free to anyone who joins the Jack Gatland VIP Reader’s Club! Join Here! Also by Jack Gatland DI DECLAN WALSH BOOKS LETTER FROM THE DEAD MURDER OF ANGELS HUNTER HUNTED WHISPER FOR THE REAPER TO HUNT A MAGPIE A RITUAL FOR THE DYING KILLING THE MUSIC A DINNER TO DIE FOR BEHIND THE WIRE HEAVY IS THE CROWN STALKING THE RIPPER A QUIVER OF SORROWS MURDER BY MISTLETOE BENEATH THE BODIES ELLIE RECKLESS BOOKS PAINT THE DEAD STEAL THE GOLD HUNT THE PREY TOM MARLOWE BOOKS SLEEPING SOLDIERS TARGET LOCKED COVERT ACTION DAMIAN LUCAS BOOKS THE LIONHEART CURSE STANDALONE BOOKS THE BOARDROOM AS TONY LEE The Playing Card War KNAVE OF SPADES Standalone DODGE & TWIST * * * For Mum, who inspired me to write. For Tracy, who inspires me to write. * * * CONTENTS T-Minus Twenty T-Minus Fifteen T-Minus Ten T-Minus Five Dopey Bitch 120:00 110:54 101.49 96.49 Downtown Blues 87:28 78:02 69.21 On The Street 60:26 51.17 43.44 35:45 27.39 News Vans 19.23 13.20 Breach 05:16 02:09 00:00 Acknowledgements About the Author T-MINUS TWENTY Devin Macintosh was in the mood for a celebration. The champagne was on ice; the lights turned down low, the room-service oysters now at room temperature and, if he was a little honest, not up to the par he’d expected from the hotel. The Madison Hotel was as “five star” as you could get, and to rent a suite, even for a Sunday night, was more than most of the staff at the hotel earned in a month. Devin called it “pin money”. To be brutally frank, though, Devin wouldn’t spend so much on such a frivolity; he wasn’t one for bells and whistles. Sure, he enjoyed a steak dinner like the next guy, but he was just as happy chomping down on a Burger King bacon double cheese with onion rings – as long as he didn’t have to sit in the bloody restaurant, that was. Those places stank of poverty. And Devin Macintosh hated poverty. This wasn’t some kind of irrational hatred; this was because one time – many years earlier – Devin had been one of those poor, penniless bastards, scraping a living in any way he could, regardless of the legality of the situation. In fact, it was why, many years later, Wrentham Industries poached him from their closest rival with a rather impressive benefits package, including his own box at Madison Square Garden, and the use of a couple of executive suites at the Madison Hotel. As he’d said, Devin wouldn’t spend on such a frivolity. He expected someone else to cover the cost for him. Lying on the bed, the satin sheets crumpled, Devin ran a hand through his hair. For a man in his late forties he looked good for his age; at least a good five or ten years younger. This was partly because of his exercise regime, and also because of the hair plugs he’d gotten around five years earlier, when he’d seen his family’s genetic disposition for balding had knocked upon his own door. His wife had called it a vanity exercise and a waste of money, saying he didn’t need to do such a thing, that he was “still attractive without hair”. But he’d called her a hypocrite, pointing out she’d happily let him pay for her new breasts, and the conversation drew to a close. Still, they both got what they wanted. But, for all his complaints about costs, Devin had his fancies. His underwear, currently the only thing he was wearing right now, was worth more than the average suit of his corporate team, and his watch, currently on the sideboard next to his expensive, top-of-the-range phone cost six figures. But neither of them were as beautiful as the woman laying breathless on the bed next to him. In her late thirties, her own expensive and incredibly flimsy lace underwear had been half removed already, occurring during their first play fight, her incredible breasts free from restraint and quite frankly, in Devin’s opinion, spectacular, no matter how much money they cost. Rising, Devin leaned across those spectacular breasts, grabbing one of the two champagne flutes on the side table. Downing it, he toasted her. ‘Happy anniversary,’ he said, and was about to speak again, to say something more, maybe even about love, or something equally sappy when the woman grinned, leant closer, and bit him hard on the