A red carpet premiere. A prison riot. A death in one of
London’s most exclusive restaurants.
The connection should be impossible, but personal security
specialist Jason Hunter knows better. Beneath the glamour and power lies a
network built on greed, control, and secrets worth killing for.
As the pressure builds, Jason is forced into a dangerous
game where every move could be his last. And in a world this corrupt, the truth
won’t set you free… it will get you killed.
Wesley Gray
Aurora’s, London
Friday 17th
June
Wesley
Gray was a very rich man. And that made him very happy.
He’d
spent the first 20 years of his life grafting hard, right up until he found
himself in the world of financial banking. Specifically, as a hedge fund
manager. From there, it was a cutthroat rise to the top. And he wasn’t ashamed
to say he’d screwed a fair few people along the way.
But
that was the beauty of being so filthy rich. He didn’t need to worry about shit
like that anymore.
He
could do what he wanted, when he wanted. And on Fridays, he wanted to be
sitting at his regular table at Aurora’s, Soho’s chicest restaurant. Known for
its flamboyant history as a former brothel, Aurora’s was an exclusive club for
the mega-rich.
Which
is exactly where he was.
It
wasn’t a big place, but it was still decadent in every way imaginable, with
tables spaced far enough apart that multi-million-pound business deals could be
discussed without the risk of being overheard. It was famed for its extensive
drinks list with wines from all around the world, some of which were almost a
hundred years old. And the best part? The Michelin-star, world-renowned chef in
the kitchen delivering a fresh menu every week.
The
room was accented with deep red walls, plush leather chairs, and artwork from
the latest talent London had to offer. It was full, as it always was. It took
months to get a table at Aurora’s.
But
Wesley Gray had a permanent reservation.
Second
table along, at the front. Far enough away from the door that he wouldn’t be
disturbed, but close enough that he didn’t feel like he was at the back of the
room.
The
waiters all knew him.
He
tipped generously, so they knew to anticipate his every whim.
Now
in his fifties, Wesley Gray had long since retired. If retired was even the
right word. Sure, he owned London’s largest investment firm that spanned
multiple continents and had huge offices in all the major worldwide cities; New
York, Singapore, Hong Kong, and San Francisco to name a few. They were just his
favourites, and he visited them all regularly, mostly for pleasure, not
business.
Turns
out when you’re not chained to a desk from 6am to 9pm, there’s a lot of
pleasure out there in the world. A lot of women who would happily throw
themselves at him. And he didn’t even need to treat them well.
Opposite
him sat his latest conquest. She was tall, long-legged, and had black
chin-length hair. He’d surprised himself really, because normally he was into
big-boobed blondes, but this one had practically fallen into his lap at the
fundraiser gala on Tuesday, and she was deliciously submissive in the bedroom.
The
waiter approached the table to take their order.
“Good
evening, Mr Gray,” he said.
“My
usual wine,” said Wesley Gray. “And we’ll both have the chef’s special.”
The
menu didn’t offer a chef’s special. But it had become a tradition of sorts. It
normally resulted in a hand-picked dish from the menu with an added flourish.
The
waiter nodded, jotted the order down onto his little pad and then disappeared
from the table, taking the menus with him. Another thing he liked about this
place – it was old school.
No
mobile phones allowed inside. Which meant no cameras. Making it the perfect
place to meet with people you didn’t want to be seen with by the paparazzi. It
didn’t stop them camping outside almost 24/7, but it did offer a modicum of
privacy that was impossible to get anywhere else.
Less
than five minutes later, another waiter appeared at the table carrying the
already uncorked wine. He showed Wesley Gray the bottle and poured it into the
wine glasses on the table. Normally, Wesley Gray would be offered the courtesy
of tasting the wine before being poured an entire glass.
He
glanced up at the waiter and realised that it wasn’t a face he recognised. In
fact, it was a perfectly neutral face, the kind you forgot almost instantly
after seeing it. The waiter didn’t smile or acknowledge him in any way. He
simply finished pouring and paused as Wesley Gray brought the wine to his lips
and took a sip. Then the waiter gave a small nod of his head and left.
Frowning,
Wesley Gray took another sip of the wine, wondering at the strange behaviour.
It tasted perfectly fine. Not that he was a wine connoisseur by any means, he
just liked the feeling of power that came from buying expensive things.
Glancing
across the table, his date looked bored. Her eyes were flitting around the
room, clocking the different faces sitting at the tables, and he immediately
regretted bringing her. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
He
opened his mouth to speak, but a wave of dizziness overcame him and he gripped
the arm of his chair. His breath came in frantic pants and the glass of wine
slipped from his fingers, spilling on the plush cream carpet as he gasped for
air.
Desperately,
he pushed his chair away from the table in an attempt to stand up, but he
couldn’t breathe. By now, restaurant-goers were turning to stare at the
commotion, and several waiters rushed forward to assist as he fell to the
floor.
“Someone
call an ambulance!” shouted his date, horror written all over her face.
But
it was too late.
Wesley
Gray was dead.
