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Thriller is a genre in literature. Thriller completely independent genre. Books of this genre are available now for your attention. We add new Thriller books to our e-library every day every day. Always interesting and instructive to read using our elibrary.
Only occasionally does a rather skillfully tailored product come off this ā€œconveyor lineā€ that really has any merit in order to stand out from the basically homogeneous literary mass. Our electronic library is full of thriller highlights.
ā€œThrillerā€ is a modern term.
This genre is classified by causing a sudden outburst of emotion in the reader.
Thriller elements are present in many works of different genres. Thriller mix of fantasy and detective. Of course, reading thriller novels of high quality in terms of content and form of presentation is a very useful, informative and even, in some cases, instructive activity. However, the reader must understand in advance that sometimes a detailed description of many bloody fights, shootings and martial arts, the suffering of numerous victims, all kinds of confrontations can cause him a kind of rejection from further reading works of this genre of literature.


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Reading books RomanceReading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.
In this genre the characters can be both real historical figures and the author's imagination. Thanks to such historical romantic novels, you can see another era through the eyes of eyewitnesses.
Critics will say that romance is too predictable. That if you know how it ends, thereā€™s no point in reading it. Sorry, but no. Itā€™s okay to choose between genres to get what you need from your books. But in romance the happy ending is a feature.Itā€™s so romantic to describe the scene when you have found your True Love like in ā€œfairytale love story.ā€



Reading thrillers facilitates to the formation of a person's sense of danger and makes him avoid such situations in every possible way in real life. At the same time, the reader can use the example of books to form his own line of behavior in real situations. Thrillers contribute to the development of the sixth sense - intuition. The reader will definitely remember the heroes of thrillers, because they operate in extreme circumstances and must include all means for survival. Filmmakers are always on the lookout for new releases in thriller. Scripts are created every day, that are even more sophisticated and dynamic. Based on these scenarios, new films will be screened, that attract tens of thousands of fans thriller genre. Therefore, each reader will be interested in how it was possible to embody the complexity of the plot on the screen, which is described in the original book. The great success of thrillers on the screen, the basis will still be a book.



You may also be interested in books of the MYSTERY & CRIME or HORROR genre


Read books online Ā» Thriller Ā» Syndrome by Thomas Hoover (read along books txt) šŸ“–

Book online Ā«Syndrome by Thomas Hoover (read along books txt) šŸ“–Ā». Author Thomas Hoover



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turn out so bad with you?

Heā€™d been a bond trader for Goldman, and at family gatherings heā€™d brag about making three hundred thou a year. But he had a high-maintenance lifestyle involving downtown models he was constantly trying to impress with jewelry and expensive vacations, so that wasnā€™t enough. He decided to freelance on the side. He set up a Web site and, with his brokerā€™s license, opened a retail business trading naked futures contracts on Treasuries. He managed to get some naive clients and for a while made a profit for them. But then the market turned against him, or maybe he lost his rabbitā€™s foot, and he began losing a lot of other peopleā€™s money.

A couple of his clients with heavy losses felt that heā€™d misrepresented the risk, and they were getting ready to sue. They also were threatening to file a complaint with the SEC. There was a real possibility he could be barred from the financial industry for life.

The only thing that would put the matter to rest was if he made good some of their losses. But Grant, who lived hand to mouth no matter what his income, didnā€™t have any liquidity. A reserve? Thatā€™s for guys who donā€™t have any balls.

She pieced this story together after the fact. Somehow heā€™d gotten to their father, who bailed him out mainly to save the family from disgrace. In doing so, he had mortgaged CitiSpace right up to the breaking point.

When she finally unraveled this poignant tale, she realized her father believed he was going to have to declare bankruptcy and close the firm, laying everybody off and leaving Nina a pauper. He thought the only way to save the family from ruin was to collect on his life insurance. Unfortunately, however, he botched the plan. Nobody believed his death was accidental and suicide voided the 3-million-dollar policyā€¦.

Grant had always inhabited another planet from her dad but surely these days he was able to support any lifestyle he chose. For the last two years heā€™d been some kind of hotshot financial manager for the high-stakes conglomerate owned by Winston Bartlett, or so Nina said. He should be making big bucks. Had he managed to screw that up somehow? Anytime he came crawling back to the family for anything, it was because he was in some kind of trouble.

She hadnā€™t seen him in so long she wondered if sheā€™d even recognize him-not that she had any plans to see him.

But what could Grant possibly want from her now? Also, why would he pick this morning, this anniversary morning, to reappear? Didnā€™t he know what day this was? Or maybe he didnā€™t actually care.

Heā€™d been living on the East Side that fateful morning of their dad Is death, in a doorman co-op he surely couldnā€™t afford, and sheā€™d taken a cab there to tell him in person rather than do it over the phone. When she did, her voice breaking, she could see his eyes already filtering out any part of it that touched him. By today heā€™d probably purged it out of his memory entirelyā€¦.

She had reached the vast lawn that had been built on the landfill behind Stuyvesant High, the Hudson River on one side and the huge expanse of green on the other. It was manicured and verdant, a La Grande Jatte expanse of grass where you could see visions of wicker picnic baskets and bottles of Beaujolais. The space was deserted now and smelled of new grass. Knickers had gotten ten paces ahead of her, as though impatient that Alexa was slowing her down, but then she paused in midstride to sniff at a bagel somebody had tossed.

ā€œCome on, honey.ā€ Ally caught up with her, wheezing. ā€œTime to backtrack. My chest is getting tight again. Goodies at home.ā€

Knickers glared at her dolefully for a moment, not buying the argument.

ā€œLetā€™s go.ā€ She resumed her stride back north, knowing-well, hoping-Knickers would follow. ā€œHome.ā€

Her senses must have been slowing down too, because she honestly didnā€™t hear him when he came up behind her three minutes laterā€¦.

Sunday, April 5

8:29 A.M.

ā€œDidnā€™t think I could keep up, did you?ā€ Grant Hampton quipped from ten paces back. ā€œGuess you didnā€™t know Iā€™ve started playing handball every other morning. Half an hour, with the Man. Great for the stamina. Not to mention brown-nosing the boss, since naturally I let him win.ā€

She doesnā€™t look half bad, he thought. Maybe sheā€™s getting out ahead of that heart problem. Maybe sheā€™s actually okay and Iā€™m screwed.

Fuck.

But why is she still so fried at me? Sure, I had a little trouble, but everybody has ups and downs. Nina, that hardhearted bitch, wants to blame me for Arthurā€™s death, when it was nobodyā€™s fault but his own that the old fart pulled the plug. Hell, I was going to pay back the money. He just didnā€™t believe in me. He never did.

ā€œWhat are you doing here, Grant?ā€ When she turned to look back at him, she realized she wasnā€™t prepared for this moment at all, but here he was, complete with a trendy CK running outfit.

Sheā€™d only seen him a couple of times after the funeral, and he looked like life was treating him well. The perfect tan, the lush sandy hair with an expensive cut that covered the top of his ears like a precise little helmet. He was a touch over six feet, with athletic shoulders, a trim figure, and a graceful fluidity to his stride. No wonder he scores with models. Damn. How could such a creep look that great?

ā€œI told you, Iā€™m trying to do you a favor.ā€ He momentarily pulled ahead, as though to head her off, then looked back and grinned. She thought she detected a vaguely demented quality in his gray eyes. ā€œHey, Iā€™ve turned my life around, Ally. Lots of good karma. Iā€™m CFO for BMD, and W.B. lets me handle a lot of his personal investing too.ā€

She put on a burst of energy, trying unsuccessfully to get out ahead of him. Even though sheā€™d rehearsed this inevitable moment over and over in her mind, she hadnā€™t realized that seeing him again would be this upsetting.

Why was he here? But now that he was, maybe she ought to momentarily let go of the anger long enough to find out what he wanted. Fortunately, they were almost back to Barrow Street. So this was going to be quick; no way was she going to ask him up.

ā€œLook,ā€ Grant declared over his shoulder, ā€œI think itā€™s high time to admit Iā€™ve been a shit. To you and to a lot of people.ā€ Now he slowed enough that she pulled alongside. ā€œFor a long time there, back when I worked for Goldman, I was an immature asshole. But at least Iā€™m mature enough now to admit it.ā€

ā€œI think the window for owning up is past.ā€ She didnā€™t need his belated mea culpa. Nothing was going to bring their father back, and having a scene on this anniversary day would only demean his memory. ā€œSometimes itā€™s better just to let things rest.ā€

ā€œNo, thatā€™s wrong, Ally, and I want to try and start making amends. For all the money Dad helped me out with. I want to do a kindness for you, to repay you and Mom as best I can.ā€ Now he was jogging along beside her as smooth as a stroll, barely breathing. It was adding to her humiliation.

ā€œGrant, itā€™s a little fucking late for that. Dadā€™s gone. Moneyā€™s not going to bring him back. And Iā€™m okay, Momā€™s okay-at least for money.ā€ Well, she thought, thatā€™s true for now, but who knows what lies ahead? ā€œSo whatā€™s a couple of million or so between siblings, anyway? Right? Itā€™s the price of finding out who everybody is.ā€

Just now, she told herself, the biggest ā€œkindness ā€ he could do would be to disappear. Forever. Sheā€™d thought she was over the bulk of the pain and the feelings of humiliation, but seeing him again, hearing his voice, and looking at his eyes was bringing all of it back. She realized she was never going to be over it.

ā€œAlly, go ahead and say whatever you need toā€¦ Look, I canā€™t really do anything about the money, at least not right this minute-though Iā€™ve got a big ship on the horizon, assuming a deal Iā€™m working on comes through. But right now Iā€™m about to try to do you a favor.ā€

ā€œI think I can muddle through without any of your ā€˜favors,ā€™ Grant. And I really donā€™t appreciate your showing up out of the blue like this, bullying your way back into my life.ā€

She glanced over and saw his gray eyes were hangdog. It was the soulful look he used to melt her resolve. But not this time. She was yelling at herself inside not to give an inch. If she let him anywhere close to her life again, she was sure sheā€™d only regret it.

ā€œWell, like it or not, I am here at the moment,ā€ he said, once more jogging a pace ahead then twisting his head back. They were at the crossing and he could see her building from where they were. He had to get a hook into her before she disappeared into that damned lobby. Time for the bait. ā€œBy the way, Ally, howā€™s your ticker doing these days? You still have to watch out forā€¦ that heart thing?ā€

ā€œLook, Grant, Iā€™ve got a busy morning. Iā€™m going up to see Mom, not that youā€™d give a damn. So thank you for inquiring about my health, but frankly what do you care?ā€ She paused. ā€œTell you what. If your ā€˜favorā€™ is so wonderful, Iā€™ll give you one phone call. Tonight, at home.ā€ She had Knickersā€™ leash on a short hold and was waiting for the light to change. ā€œBut Iā€™ve got to go now.ā€

Shit, he thought, the hook didnā€™t catch. ā€œCanā€™t be on the phone, Iā€™m telling you. I needed to see you. Why the hell do you think I took the trouble to catch you before your day got started? You know I hate getting up this early.ā€ He stepped onto the curb and stopped. ā€œAlly, please listen. This is something I can do for you. I wonā€™t insult you by saying itā€™s for old timesā€™ sake, but in a way it is. I got you a shot at a big job. Bartlett wants to redo the ground floor of his place on Gramercy Park. I told him about CitiSpace, and he sounded interested and said heā€™d like for you to come by and meet him and help him kick around some ideas.ā€

She looked at him, not believing a word.

ā€œYou hacked into my life at seven oā€™clock Sunday morning for that. You had to see me? Give me a break. What do you really want? And this better be good.ā€

Okay, he thought. Cut to the chase.

ā€œYouā€™re correct. Itā€™s about your heart.ā€

ā€œWhat about it?ā€

Make it real, he told himself. This could be your only shot.

ā€œAll right, hereā€™s the unvarnished deal. What I really did for you. About five years ago, Bartlett bankrolled a start-up bio-med firm called the Gerex Corporation. It was the brainchild of a Dutch doctor whose research project had just been sawed off at the knees by Stanford University. Then Bartlett moved the entire operation to a clinic at the BMD campus out in New Jersey called the Dorian Institute. Itā€™s all very hush-hush, but I can tell you Gerex has a new procedure in clinical trials that can literally work miracles. The head researcher, this Dutch doctor, has pioneered a new treatment using a stem cell procedure to trick an organ into regenerating itself, even a heart. Itā€™s like you grow your own transplant.ā€

Now she was finally

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