The Term Sheet: A Startup Thriller Novel (19 page)

A
ndrew threw
the apartment door open with gusto. An infection had kept him in the hospital a few weeks longer than expected, but David had visited him every day. Finally, after a few weeks of intense physical therapy, he had all the energy in the world. A crisp morning breeze swept in and Andrew slammed the door behind him, shivering as he took off his jacket.

“Hey Heather,” said Andrew. “How are you today?”

Heather looked up from watering the plants. Her smile was as vibrant and warm as the plants she was caring for.

“Good, you? How’s your chest?”

“Good. Wanna see the hole?”

Andrew started pulling down his T-shirt to show Heather, but she turned away. He walked over to David, who was standing over the kitchen counter making a pour over.

“Check it out. Jeni thinks this is the hottest bullet hole she has ever seen.”

“How many bullet holes has she seen, exactly?” asked David.

“Enough. Hey, you know they give you free coffee at work, right?”

“I like the ritual. Want a cup?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“Didn’t anyone teach you two manners?” said Heather. “Must I remind you that you are in the presence of a lady?”

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” said Andrew.

David and Andrew chugged their coffees. David was able to finish slightly before Andrew and slammed his mug on the table.

“Hold on a sec,” said David. “I have something for you, Heather.”

“For me?”

David rummaged through his backpack.

“It took some sleuthing, but I was finally able to track it down.”

He tossed her a paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a small red box.

“Mom would come back to life and murder me if I didn’t keep it in the family.”

“Thanks,” said Heather with glassy eyes. David walked up and kissed her on the forehead. The friends raced out of the apartment and jumped on their bikes. The early spring felt like summer. David knew the showers would return soon, but he loved the rare respite where people could leave their jackets and sweaters behind and throw caution to the wind. Even the plants and trees forgot what came next. The cherry blossoms burst with white snow and the daphnes bloomed in fragrant bushes. It seemed as if only the wise rose knew better.

R
ichard had ordered
Shawn to take some time off, but his return to the field had piled up the paperwork. Shawn sat at his desk in the cold office reviewing the president’s updated travel itinerary for the next couple months. His trip to Bosnia had been cancelled, which freed up a lot of resources. But the president would now be touring middle schools in five states to discuss bullying. One high-risk event or five lower-risk events? Seemed about the same amount of paperwork.

Shawn pulled up a web browser that Brandon had recently taught him how to use and, like a gambler pulling the slot at a casino, pressed refresh. Nothing. There hadn’t been any reports of new terrorist plots for a few months. He was certain that would change soon, but after such a high-profile takedown, most of the cockroaches had gone into hiding.

Brandon walked up to his boss’s desk with a cup of coffee in each hand. He placed one on his desk and took a sip from the other, but it burned his mouth and he jerked the cup away enough to spill on his hand. Shawn handed him a tissue.

“So what’s next?” asked Brandon.

Shawn sighed. “Go home, Brandon. Go get yourself a wife. You won’t survive here long if you don’t find balance.”

Brandon threw the tissue away.

“Do you ever think of getting married again?” asked Brandon.

Shawn gave Brandon his best annoyed look.

“See you on Monday,” said Brandon.

As the last of the Secret Service workers left for the night, the cleaning crew came in and started vacuuming the floors. Shawn pressed refresh one last time, then walked away from his desk.

But he wasn’t ready to go home, yet. His five=minute commute turned into a half-hour meander around Washington DC’s world-famous landmarks. He found it funny how you could live in a city for so long and avoid the very things people drove thousands of miles to see.

He drove by the Lincoln Memorial, but barely glanced at it. He turned onto Division Ave., but his mind was elsewhere. He kept turning left and right at random. There wasn’t any traffic, and as he sat at a red light, he wondered why not just go? Who would notice? He could see clearly for blocks in either direction that nobody was coming. It would be so easy to shift his foot from the brake to the gas and just go.

The light turned green, but Shawn still didn’t move. He sat there as the light turned yellow and red again. He had a feeling that something had brought him to this spot. This very location. Something had pulled him unconsciously, but with a powerful and undeniable force. He opened the car door and stepped out onto the street. Looking around, he noticed recently poured cement on the sidewalk. He saw a brick building and a city garden overflowing with winter kale and spring vegetables.
Could this be it? Was this where the train crashed through our tent?

The day flashed back at him. The landscape changing under his feet. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing he had been right and not being able to stop it. The train cutting through streets and buildings like butter. And yet now it had all come back together again. If it wasn’t for the newly poured sidewalk, it would be hard to tell that anything happened here.

On the gate to the community garden was a plaque. Shawn walked up to get a better look. A taxi came up behind his car, and he was about to turn around, but the taxi just pulled around and sped off. He got to the heavy metal gate and read the plaque silently.

“You would have hated that,” said Shawn out loud. “You never did like poetry.”

Shawn tried to open the gate, but it was locked. He considered jumping over the gate, but he was too old for that.

“I miss you, Norah. Thanks for bringing me here tonight. You always know just what I need. And just when I need it.”

A
s David jumped
off his bike, his heart seized. While undoing his helmet, a dark car pulled up beside him. It wasn’t the dark car that scared him as much as the driver. Megan got out of the driver’s side and walked right by him. She didn’t notice him, or maybe she didn’t recognize him without the beard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her. Feelings of guilt and sadness washed over him as he realized right then that Megan was going to be a regret for the rest of his life.

He watched silently as she paid for her parking pass and walked back toward him. She was dressed for success in a navy blue suit. His heart leaped again, thinking this time she would recognize him. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. She nearly ran into him walking to put the pass in her car window.

“Excuse me,” she said without looking.

No, please, I’m the one who needs to be excused.

David said nothing.

They had spent a year and a half together before David bought the jellyfish website, before everything fell apart. Their love was unstoppable at first, like the train they had always been waiting to catch. David wondered how he had let it all fall apart so quickly.

He realized that she wasn’t going to notice him, so he walked across the street to grab some coffee. He had been up late, working, and even though it was a sunny afternoon, he had only climbed out of bed a half hour ago. MochaToca didn’t really care what time you came into the office as long as your work got done.

“Coffee. Black, please.”

He was savoring his first cup of the day when Megan walked into the empty shop with another man. He was also dressed in a suit. David watched as they ordered. Two vanilla lattes. He couldn’t tell if they were on a date or at a business meeting.

She turned around and their eyes locked. She was stunned to silence. He couldn’t breathe. After what seemed like minutes, but was probably was just seconds, she smiled and lifted her hand in the slightest wave. He nodded and beamed a smile in return. Then she turned and resumed talking to the other man. David slipped out the back door and ran to the office, his black coffee slopping back and forth in the paper cup.

He walked into the foyer and sat on one of the two empty couches in front of the elevator to catch his breath. A few minutes later, the elevator opened.

“I was wondering where you were,” yelled Andrew. “Don’t you answer your texts anymore?”

“Late night.”

“Wanna get lunch?”

There was a Chipotle a couple blocks from the office that always had a long line at lunch, but it moved quickly. The team seemed to have a good rhythm going. As David and Andrew finished their burrito bowls, a glob of salsa fell onto Andrew’s lap.

“We’re in the stickiest situation since Stick the stick insect got stuck on a sticky bun,” said Andrew.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” said David. “Blackadder again?”

Andrew gasped. “Hold on a second, let me get my phone. I need to record those words.”

David chuckled. They finished up and began walking back to work. The rain had returned with a vengeance, but they didn’t have an umbrella so they just shuffled along from awning to awning. They paused to wait for the light to change.

“So what’s next?” asked Andrew.

“I don’t know,” said David. “I was going to go ask Andrea what project they want us to work on.”

Andrew shook his head. “No, I mean what are we going to do with all the money?”

David had skimmed just enough money from Shawn’s “loan” to pay for another year of Heather’s home care. Since Doug had legally acquired Cryptobit, that money was theirs free and clear. But now that Heather had moved in with David, it had just been sitting there for months. They half expected someone to show up and take it all away, but with Doug in jail and the entire company under investigation, the paperwork had been long forgotten. There were even rumors of bankruptcy.

“I did have a crazy idea recently…”

T
hank
you to my wife for inspiring me.

Thank you John Truby and Steven King for showing me how to write fiction.

Thank you to my wonderful editor Steve Parolini for making me look like I can write fiction.

Thank you Richard Kotulski who’s creativity inspired many of the best parts of this novel.

Thank you Eliot Peper for paving the way for the entire genre of startup thrillers and to Brad Feld for supporting him.

Thank you
damonza.com
for the book cover.

Thank you Stephanie Parent at Polgarus Studio for catching such many grammar and spellng mistakes.

And I owe a specially huge debt of gratitude to my incredible team of beta readers including Roger, Richard, Kevin, Jessica, Cesare, Daniel, Mark, Rupak, Ricky, Lewis, Chris, Tom, Ricardo, Jeff, David, Linda, Sukumar, Trevor, Tyler, Ron, Michael, Amit, Travis, Adam, Julie, Alex, Joy, Alexander, Arold, Chad, Ronoh, Janelle, Sandy, Gary, Steve, Noah, Glen, Tiffany, Craig, Matt, Vivek, JR, Karl, Martin, Louis, Jason, Thuy and Jonas.

This book would not have existed without you.