Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“Nice choice,” Shep says, dumping his pea coat on the back of a chair. “Even if they trace it…”

“… all they’ll find are some Wayne & Portnoy clients,” I add, throwing my coat on top.

“You’re all geniuses,” Charlie adds. “Now can we get going on our stutterer? Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

Shep slides into a seat, pulls the number from his pocket, and grabs the phone in a meaty paw. As he dials, Charlie hits the Hands-Free button on the starfish speakerphone system that’s at the center of the table. Everybody loves conference calls.

It rings three times before someone picks up. “Law offices,” a male voice answers.

Shep keeps it cool and calm. “Hello, I’m looking for a lawyer and was wondering what type of law Mr… uh… Mr…”

“Bendini.”

“Right… Bendini…” Shep repeats, writing it down. “I was wondering what type of law Mr. Bendini specializes in.”

“What type of law are you looking for?”

Shep nods to the two of us. The only thing fishier is Starkist. Here’s our man. “Actually, we’re looking for someone who specializes in keeping things… well, we’re hoping to keep things low-profile…”

There’s a short pause on the other line. “Talk to me,” Bendini says.

Bam, Shep’s out of his seat. He paces slightly, though his big frame makes it look more like lumbering. I can’t tell if he’s thrilled or scared. I’m betting thrilled. All those years behind the desk, he’s feeling his inner James Bond. “I’m gonna put on my associate,” he tells Bendini. Shep nods to me as I strain to get as close as I can to the speakerphone.

“You lean in any more, you’re gonna start humping it,” Charlie teases.

“Mr. Bendini…?” I ask.

No one answers.

Shep shakes his head. Charlie laughs and pretends it’s a cough.

Catching on, I start over. Without using names. “Here’s the story: I want you to listen carefully, and I want you to call the following number…” I want, I want, I want , I say, driving home my point. Charlie sticks his chest out at my newfound tone. He’s happy to see me strong… more demanding. At least I learned something from Lapidus after all these years.

“The place is called Purchase Out International, and you want to ask for Arnie,” I explain. “Don’t let them give you anyone else. Arnie’s the only one we deal with. When you get him on the line, tell him you need a same-day four-layer cake, endzone in Antigua. He’ll know what it is.”

“Believe me, kid, I know how to stack corporations,” Bendini interrupts in a brickyard Jersey accent.

“Don’t back down,” Charlie whispers. I’m not. My eyes are sharp, my face is flushed. I’m finally feeling my pulse.

“What name you want to put it in?” Bendini adds.

“Martin Duckworth,” all three of us say simultaneously.

I swear, I hear Bendini roll his eyes. “Fine – Martin Duckworth,” he repeats. “And for initial ownership?”

He needs another fake name. This one doesn’t matter – everything’s ultimately owned by Duckworth. “Ribbie Henson,” I say, using the name of Charlie’s imaginary friend from when he was six.

“Fine – Ribbie Henson. Now how do you wanna pay Arnie’s bill?”

Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that.

Charlie and Shep both go to jump in, but I wave them back. “Tell him we’ll pay when we request the original paperwork – right now all we need is a fax,” I decide. Before Bendini can argue, I add, “It’s what he does with the big fish – they don’t pay until the money hits. Tell him we’re whales.”

Charlie looks at me like he’s never seen me before. “Now we’re talking,” he whispers to Shep.

“And when do you need it by?” Bendini asks.

“How’s a half-hour sound?” I reply.

Again, there’s a short pause. “I’ll do what I can,” Bendini says, unfazed. Clearing his throat for emphasis, he adds, “Now how’m I gonna get paid?”

I look at Charlie. He looks to Shep. Bendini doesn’t sound like the kinda guy you just say “bill me” to.

“Tell me your rates,” Shep says.

“Tell me what it’s worth,” Bendini shoots back.

Smacking the Hands-Free button, I shut off the speakerphone. “Don’t dicker!” I hiss. “We’re running out of-”

“I’ll give you a thousand cash if you can do it in a half-hour,” Shep says as he turns the phone back on.

“A grand ?” Bendini asks. “Boys, I don’t piss for a grand – even when I have to. The minimum is five.”

Shep shoots a panicked look to me, and I go back to Charlie. My brother shakes his head. His cookie jar’s always empty. As my eyes drop down to my watch, I press my lips together. Takes money to make money. Looking back at Shep, I can’t help but nod. Charlie knows what it means. There go some B-school funds – and hospital bills.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie whispers with a hand on my shoulder. “It’s another staple we’re gonna put in Lapidus’s head.”

“Okay, you got it,” Shep tells Bendini. “We’ll wire it as soon as we hang up.” Reading from the white sticker on the fax machine, Shep relays our phone and fax numbers, thanks the price-gouger, and hangs up the phone.

The room is corpse silent.

“Well I think that went great,” Charlie announces, swinging his arm through the air aw-shucks style.

“We’ll be fine,” Shep interrupts.

I nod my head quickly. Then slower. “So you think it’ll work?” I ask anxiously.

“There we go – three full seconds,” Charlie says. “The old Oliver’s back.”

“As long as your buddy Arnie comes through…” Shep says.

“Trust me, Arnie’ll have it done in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most,” I add, watching Charlie’s reaction. He thinks I’m rationalizing. “Arnie’s this hippie leftover who lives in the Marshall Islands, makes pro-level margaritas, and sticks it to the government by plucking shelf corps off the wall all day long.”

“Shelf corps?” Charlie asks.

“Corps… corporations. Arnie registers them all across the world – gives them names, addresses, even boards of directors. You’ve seen the classified ads – they’re in every in-flight airline magazine in existence: Hate the IRS? Paying Too Much in Taxes? Private Offshore Companies! Guaranteed Privacy!”

“And you think he’s gonna be able to set up an entire company in the next half-hour?” Charlie asks.

“Trust me, he’s set these up months ago. ABC Corp. DEF Corp. GHI Corp. All the paperwork’s already done… each corporation is just a notebook on a shelf. When we call, he scribbles our fake name into the few blanks that are left and gives it a quick notary stamp. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s taking this l-”

The phone rings and Charlie leaps forward, answering it through the speakerphone. “H-Hello.”

“Congratulations,” Bendini says in full Jersey accent. “Ribbie Henson is now the proud owner and sole shareholder of Sunshine Distributors Partnership, Limited, in the Virgin Islands, which is owned by CEP Worldwide in Nauru, which is owned by Maritime Holding Services in Vanuatu, which is owned by Martin Duckworth in Antigua.”

Four layers – endzone in Antigua. When law enforcement digs, it’ll take ’em months to sort through all the paperwork.

“Sounds like you boys are in business. Just make sure you wire my cash.”

The moment the line goes dead, the fax machine hums to life. I swear, it almost gives me a heart attack.

Over the next five minutes, the fax machine vomits up the rest of the paperwork – from bylaws to articles of incorporation – everything we need to open up a brand-new corporate account. I check the clock on the wall: two hours to go. Mary asked for the paperwork by noon. Damn. All three of us know this can’t be like Tanner Drew. No stolen passwords. It’s gotta be done by the book.