The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) by Russell Moran
Authors: Russell Moran
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crime scene.
“You’re more accustomed to scenes like this than I am. I don’t know how you can take it. I need some fresh air. Care to join me?”
“Sure. Over the years I’ve learned to get used to something like this. But 95 bodies in one room is a bit much even for me.”
“Do you think you’ll be home late tonight?”
“I’ll probably be working for a couple of days straight with time off for naps. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home. But I’ll tell you what I want to do.”
“Let me guess, watch a feel-good movie on TV?”
“You got it, Jack. How about a nice classic like When Harry Met Sally ? We haven’t seen it for over six months.”
“Count on it. See you soon, honey.”
Chapter 22
Bartholomew sat on the expansive deck of his elegant vacation home in Amagansett, Long Island. He cleaned his gun, a Sig Sauer P226. The Sig is popular in the military and law enforcement for its accuracy and reliability. He had the 357 version, which he used when he was a Navy SEAL lieutenant. It packs a lot more punch than the standard 9mm Sig. He was also an expert in the use of the M16, a fully automatic machine gun, also commonly used in the military.
Bartholomew is a tall man at 6’2,” with short cropped sandy brown hair and deep blue eyes, eyes that some people called “penetrating.” At the age of 38, he had an athletic build, kept that way by a strict regimen of exercise.
After he finished cleaning his weapon, Bartholomew put his feet up on a teak lounge chair and stared at the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 feet from his deck. He had paid $16 million for the house two years earlier. It boasted eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, an indoor pool, a gym, and a billiards room. Bartholomew was a wealthy man and a widower. His fourth wife had died a year earlier in a yet-to-be-solved car accident in the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. She was on her way out to the beach house from their Manhattan condo, when her car apparently went out of control.
Bartholomew was a former vice president for Amazon. He loved working for the company, especially because of its devotion to intricate data. “Opinions are bullshit,” Bartholomew would often say. “Data is the only thing that matters.”
He was the CEO and majority shareholder of Midtown Metrics, a securities firm. The company was quite successful, and many commentators attributed it to the head man’s obsession with data. He also ran a successful hedge fund.
Bartholomew’s last name was Martin, but he seldom used it. His years at Amazon taught him the importance of charisma when you’re a leader of anything. To anyone who knew him, Bartholomew Martin was simply known as Bartholomew.
“James Ordin is here, Bartholomew,” said his assistant. Besides not using his last name unless necessary, he insisted that everyone call him Bartholomew, never Bart. James Ordin was one of his top aides. Ordin was also a former Amazon executive, and Bartholomew valued his devotion to numbers. Ordin was executive vice president of Midtown Metrics.
“So talk numbers to me, James.” Bartholomew preferred to call people by their proper names, never a nickname. If your name is James, he’d never call you Jim. Robert was Robert, William, William. It encourages discipline, something almost as important as data. Just a few of Bartholomew’s strict rules.
“They’re adding up beautifully, Bartholomew. From our six-month data point, the count is 726, and Metric Alpha is 37.”
“James, do you really think that’s beautiful?” he asked softly. Another of Bartholomew’s traits is to speak in a soft tone.
“Yes, it is if we look at the number in light of another set of data. Our target plan, adding up the total number of incidents to date, was 711, with Metric Alpha at 36. So the data tells us that we’re over 100 percent of efficiency.”
“Thank you, James. As usual you gave me what I want to
“You’re more accustomed to scenes like this than I am. I don’t know how you can take it. I need some fresh air. Care to join me?”
“Sure. Over the years I’ve learned to get used to something like this. But 95 bodies in one room is a bit much even for me.”
“Do you think you’ll be home late tonight?”
“I’ll probably be working for a couple of days straight with time off for naps. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home. But I’ll tell you what I want to do.”
“Let me guess, watch a feel-good movie on TV?”
“You got it, Jack. How about a nice classic like When Harry Met Sally ? We haven’t seen it for over six months.”
“Count on it. See you soon, honey.”
Chapter 22
Bartholomew sat on the expansive deck of his elegant vacation home in Amagansett, Long Island. He cleaned his gun, a Sig Sauer P226. The Sig is popular in the military and law enforcement for its accuracy and reliability. He had the 357 version, which he used when he was a Navy SEAL lieutenant. It packs a lot more punch than the standard 9mm Sig. He was also an expert in the use of the M16, a fully automatic machine gun, also commonly used in the military.
Bartholomew is a tall man at 6’2,” with short cropped sandy brown hair and deep blue eyes, eyes that some people called “penetrating.” At the age of 38, he had an athletic build, kept that way by a strict regimen of exercise.
After he finished cleaning his weapon, Bartholomew put his feet up on a teak lounge chair and stared at the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 feet from his deck. He had paid $16 million for the house two years earlier. It boasted eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, an indoor pool, a gym, and a billiards room. Bartholomew was a wealthy man and a widower. His fourth wife had died a year earlier in a yet-to-be-solved car accident in the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. She was on her way out to the beach house from their Manhattan condo, when her car apparently went out of control.
Bartholomew was a former vice president for Amazon. He loved working for the company, especially because of its devotion to intricate data. “Opinions are bullshit,” Bartholomew would often say. “Data is the only thing that matters.”
He was the CEO and majority shareholder of Midtown Metrics, a securities firm. The company was quite successful, and many commentators attributed it to the head man’s obsession with data. He also ran a successful hedge fund.
Bartholomew’s last name was Martin, but he seldom used it. His years at Amazon taught him the importance of charisma when you’re a leader of anything. To anyone who knew him, Bartholomew Martin was simply known as Bartholomew.
“James Ordin is here, Bartholomew,” said his assistant. Besides not using his last name unless necessary, he insisted that everyone call him Bartholomew, never Bart. James Ordin was one of his top aides. Ordin was also a former Amazon executive, and Bartholomew valued his devotion to numbers. Ordin was executive vice president of Midtown Metrics.
“So talk numbers to me, James.” Bartholomew preferred to call people by their proper names, never a nickname. If your name is James, he’d never call you Jim. Robert was Robert, William, William. It encourages discipline, something almost as important as data. Just a few of Bartholomew’s strict rules.
“They’re adding up beautifully, Bartholomew. From our six-month data point, the count is 726, and Metric Alpha is 37.”
“James, do you really think that’s beautiful?” he asked softly. Another of Bartholomew’s traits is to speak in a soft tone.
“Yes, it is if we look at the number in light of another set of data. Our target plan, adding up the total number of incidents to date, was 711, with Metric Alpha at 36. So the data tells us that we’re over 100 percent of efficiency.”
“Thank you, James. As usual you gave me what I want to
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