The Term Sheet: A Startup Thriller Novel Read Online Free

France and Russia never got along. They all leaned on Germany as the rock of the group.
    Shawn was sure they were up to something, and it had to do with trains. To run a large steam engine, you need two people: an engineer and a fireman—an ashcat. Although there were only seven mainline steam locomotives still running, one of them was used occasionally by congressmen because of its grand entrance effect for large events. Like the election day next month.
    The emails in the mailing list made no direct reference to anything overtly nefarious, which was why everyone thought Shawn was crazy, but he had been doing this long enough and had a hunch. The emails had stopped a week before the system alerted him of the activity.
    Shawn picked up his keys and wallet from the desk. He dropped the cold keys into his loose khaki slacks where they rubbed ever so annoyingly on his leg. He turned off his desk lamp and turned around, staring out the dark window into the darkness behind it. Everyone had left except for Abigail and a young janitor, who was singing along to “Lucky Man” by ELP. Shawn shot the boy an annoyed glance as he walked away from his desk.
    “Goodnight Abigail, get some rest.”
    “Yes boss,” she said with a smile. “Will do just as soon as the IP trace comes back.”
    Shawn smiled back. Though new to the team, Abigail Onassis was already his favorite. She had been recruited right out of college, a double major in computer science and psychology at Colombia who graduated at the top of her class. No small feat.
    It had been another too-long day and he felt restless, like he still wanted to work but didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he was hungry or tired, lonely or empty. He shuffled to his car and sat in the empty parking lot for a few minutes without turning on the ignition. The night air didn’t smell the same. It had lost its novelty and briskness and he was left with a melancholy that he wished would pass. Slowly, he turned the keys and drove home. He ate a bologna sandwich, drank a glass of tap water, brushed his teeth, changed into his underwear, crawled into bed, lay on his back, and stared quietly at his ceiling.
    Ashcat.
    He fell asleep the same way he awoke. Quietly.

Chapter 4
    “ S ophia , I don’t know what you want me to do. You don’t know how hard it is to get a job out there, you have no idea. You will though, oh boy will you ever. You’ll see. You will all see.”
    These words were ingrained in David’s memory, chiseled as if on a tombstone. They were the last words his dad—Richard Alexander (his friends called him Dick)—said before walking out on his family. Dick was a car mechanic who spent more time at the horse track than he did with his family.
    David grew up in Springwood, a small mobile home park outside of Beaverton, one of Portland’s biggest suburbs. It was a clean place to live with an odd mix of old hippies, cat ladies and disabled veterans. Richard and Sophia were the only family with young children.
    “Davie, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. We always do. We always will.”
    When Dick left, Sophia hadn’t had a full-time job in nearly twelve years. She had done a little subbing on and off at Highland Park Middle School, but the pay was pocket change. She used to spend it all on carnival rides for the kids at Oaks Park. David never knew that rent was past due or where the food came from. Sophia got a job cleaning hotel rooms at the Embassy Suites and within a few years, she was able to move the family into a small apartment a few miles from school.
    At thirteen, David became the man of the house. The day he turned fifteen, he got his driver’s permit. Even though he wasn’t legally allowed to drive without an adult yet, he often drove Heather to school and occasionally to the doctor too.
    “Aren’t you a little young to be here without your mom?” said the receptionist.
    David’s heart skipped a beat and then sped up to try to make up for it. His