Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Transfer request – all you need to do is fill in where it’s going.”

Ripping the mess of paperwork from my briefcase, I flip to the Red Sheet marked England . Charlie bends over so I can use his back as a desk. I scribble as fast as I can and copy the account info. Almost done.

“So where’s it finally going?” Shep asks.

Charlie stands up, and I stop writing. “What’re you talking about?”

“The last transfer. Where’re we putting it?”

I look to Charlie, but he returns a blank stare. “I thought you said…”

“… that you could pick where the money goes,” Shep interrupts. “I did – and you can bounce it wherever you want – but you better believe I want to know the final stop.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” I growl.

“Guys, can we just save this one for later?” Charlie pleads.

Shep leans in, plenty annoyed. “The deal was to give the two of you control… not to freeze me out altogether.”

“So suddenly you’re worried we’re going to keep the cake?” I ask.

“Fellas, please,” Charlie begs. “We’re almost out of time…”

“Don’t fuck with me, Oliver – all I’m asking for is a taste of some insurance.”

“No, all you’re asking for is our insurance. This is what’s supposed to keep us safe.”

“I just hope you both realize you’re about to blow this whole thing,” Charlie says. Neither of us cares. That’s how it always is with money – everything gets personal.

“Just tell me where the damn bank is!” Shep explodes.

“Why? So you can live your duffel bag fantasy and leave us chewing dirt?”

“Dammit, you two, no one’s leaving anyone!” Charlie shouts. Shoving himself between us, he reaches out and grabs my stack of Red Sheets.

“What’re you doing?” I yell, pulling them back.

“Let… go !” Charlie insists with one last yank. The top two pages tear in half and I fly backwards. I’m fast enough to regain my footing, but not fast enough to stop him. Spinning toward Shep, he flips to the bottom of the pile, pulls out the Red Sheet marked Antigua , and folds it back so you can only see one bank on the list.

“ Charlie… don’t !”

Too late. He covers the account number with his finger and rams it in Shep’s face. “You got it?”

Shep studies it with a quick look. “Thank you… that’s all I ask.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Charlie shoots back. “If we sit here arguing, no one’s getting anything – so finish the damn paperwork and get going. We’ve got only a few minutes!”

Spinning toward the clock, I check for myself.

“Eyes on the prize, Oliver. Eyes on the prize,” Shep says.

“Go, go, go!” Charlie shouts as I jot in the last line. He just gave away our entire insurance policy – but it’s still not worth losing everything. Not when we’re this close. Charlie stuffs the Red Sheets back in my briefcase; I’ve got a stack of forty abandoned accounts under my arm. Stumbling out the door, I don’t once look back. Just forward.

“That’s the way, bro,” Charlie calls out.

Here we go. Time to nab some cash.

Charlie slams the door behind me and I rush down the fifth-floor hallway, still juggling a mound of paper. On my right, the doors to the public elevator slide shut, which is why I double my pace and head straight for the private one in the back.

The indicator panel above the doors is lit up at eight… then seven… then six… I can still catch it. I rush forward and punch in the six-digit code as fast as I can. Just as I hit the last digit, the abandoned accounts pile gives way. I pull the full stack against my chest, but the pages are already sliding down my stomach. They crash to the floor and spread out amoeba-style. Dropping to my knees, I madly shuffle them back into place. That’s when the elevator sounds. The doors slide open and I’m staring at two sets of nice shoes. And not just anyone’s nice shoes…

“Can I help you with that, Oliver?” Lapidus asks as I look up to see his wide grin.

“Still using the boss’s code, huh?” Quincy adds, jamming his arm in front of the door to hold it open.

I force a strained smile – and feel the blood seep from my face.

“Do you need some…”

“No. I got it,” I insist. “You two go ahead.”

“Don’t worry,” Quincy teases. “We’re thrilled to wait.”

Seeing that they’re not leaving, I straighten the pile, scramble to my feet, and join them inside the elevator.

“What floor would you like, sir?” Quincy adds.

“Sorry,” I stutter. Once again forcing a grin, I reach forward and press four. My finger shakes as it taps the button.

“Don’t let him get to you, Oliver,” Lapidus offers. “He’s just mad he doesn’t have his own protégé.” Like always, it’s the perfect reaction to the situation. Like always, it’s exactly what I want to hear. And like always… just as he pulls me close for the fatherly hug, he’s carving his initials straight into my back. Drop dead, Lapidus. The whipping boy is moving on.

There’s a ping and the elevator doors glide open. “See you tomorrow,” I say, feeling like I’m about to vomit.

Quincy nods; Lapidus pats me on the shoulder.

“By the way,” Lapidus calls out, “did you have a nice conversation with Kenny?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, leaving them behind. “It was just perfect.”

Fighting the vertigo that’s pounding my head, I speedwalk down the hallway. Eyes front. Stay on course. By the time I approach The Cage, my whole body’s numb. Hands, feet, chest – I can’t feel a thing. In fact, as I reach down to open the door, my hands are so sweaty, and the doorknob’s so cold, I’m worried I’m going to spot-weld right to it. My stomach caves out from under me, begging me to stop – but it’s too late – the door’s already open.

“About time,” Mary says as I enter The Cage. “You had me worried, Oliver.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask, smiling anxious hellos to the other four officemates who look up as I cross the industrial carpet. “I still have a good three-” The door slams behind me and I jump at the crash. I almost forgot… in The Cage, the door shuts automatically.

“You okay there?” Mary asks, immediately shifting to mother hen.

“Y-Yeah… of course,” I say, struggling to pull it together. “I was just saying… we still have at least three minutes…”

“And worse comes to worst, you can always do it yourself, right?” As she asks the question, she wipes a smudge from the glass of her oldest son’s picture frame. The one with her password…

“Listen, about Tanner Drew…” I beg. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry…”

“I’m sure you are.” She lowers her head, refusing to face me. No question, she’s ready to blow. But out of nowhere, her high-pitched laugh cuts through the room. Then Polly, who sits next to her, joins in. Then Francine. All of them laughing. “C’mon, Oliver, we’re only teasing,” Mary finally adds, a big smile on her face.

“Y-You’re not mad?”

“Honey, you did the best you could with what you had… but if I ever find out you use my password again…”

I wince slightly, waiting for the rest of the threat.

Once again, Mary smiles wide. “It’s a joke, Oliver… it won’t kill you to laugh.” She pulls the stack of abandoned accounts from my hand and lightly slaps me across the chest with it. “You take things too seriously, y’know that?”

I try to answer, but nothing comes out. All I see are the forms as they wave through the air.