Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“So all those transfers from Tanner Drew and everyone here…?”

“Were just the easiest way to make the money look kosher. It’s brilliant when you see it up close. Completely random – completely untraceable. The hardest part is, once the worm gets in the system, it actually digs in and hides itself.”

“Then how do you know what’s real and what’s fake?”

“That’s the zinger now, isn’t it? Too bad for us, it’s like talking about time travel. Once Gallo brought the program in, and Shep unleashed it on the system, the worm burrowed in so deep, it created a whole new reality. The tech boys said it’ll take months to purge everything. Trust me, Lapidus and Quincy may be smiling now, but for the next year of their lives, they – and every single client in the bank – are going to be under a magnifying glass the size of Utah.”

She says it to make me feel better. And even though I can picture Tanner Drew’s face when he’s told about his audit, I’m not sure it works. “What about Gillian?” I ask.

“You mean Sherry?”

“Yeah… Sherry. Any word on how she’s doing?”

“Besides the indictment? You know better than I do. You’re the one talking to the U.S. Attorney.”

She’s right about that one. “Last I heard, she posted bail just in time to go to the funeral.”

Joey’s silent as I share the news. However it happened, she’s still the one who pulled the trigger on Shep. Still, she’s too bright to linger on the negative. Moving for a quick change of subject, she asks, “So what’re you doing after this?”

“You mean, besides five years of probation?”

“Was that the final settlement?”

“As long as we deliver DeSanctis and Gilli – Sherry, the testimony sets us free.”

By the crinkle in her forehead, she’s wondering if it was a hard choice. Nothing in my life has ever been easier.

“What about you?” I ask. “Don’t they give you a bonus or some sort of percentage for bringing everyone in?”

She shakes her head. “Not when a cheap-ass insurance company is paying,” she says. “But there’s always the next case…”

I nod, trying to sympathize.

“So that’s it?” Joey asks.

“That’s it,” I tell her.

She looks at me like I’m leaving something out.

“What?” I ask.

Glancing over her shoulder, she makes sure no one’s listening. “Is it true someone called you about buying the movie rights?”

“How’d you hear that?”

“It’s my job, Oliver.”

I shake my head, and for once, let it roll off. “They called – they said I had a lot of subplots – but I haven’t called them back. I don’t know… not everything has a pricetag.”

“Yeah… well, I’ve got a lot of subplots too. And all I’m saying is when they cast my part, don’t let it be with some soft beauty queen who runs around with a cell phone pressed to her ear – unless, of course, she’s an asskicker, and has a normal body, and the final line someone utters to her is ‘ Thanks, Mean Joe .’”

I can’t help but laugh out loud. “I’ll do what I can.”

Joey heads for the door and gives it a sharp yank open. As she’s about to leave, she turns around and adds, “I really am sorry they had to fire you, Oliver.”

“Trust me, it’s for the best.”

She studies me to see if I’m lying – to her and to myself.

Unsure, she turns back to the door. “You ready to go?”

I look down at the two storage boxes that sit on top of the conference table. The one on the left has how-to-get-ahead textbooks, silver pens, and a leather blotter. The one on the right has Play-Doh and Kermit the Frog. The boxes aren’t big. I can carry both. But I only take one.

C’mon, Kermit, we’re going home.

Propping Charlie’s box against my chest, I leave the other one behind.

Joey motions to it. “Do you want help carrying th-?”

I shake my head. I don’t need it anymore.

Nodding slightly, Joey steps back and holds the door wide open.

I cross through the threshold and begin my final walk through the bank. Everyone’s staring. I don’t care.

“Knock ’em on their ass, kiddo,” Joey whispers as I pass.

“Thanks, Mean Joe,” I grin back.

Without another word, I step out into the crowd. Looking straight ahead, I already smell the Play-Doh.

“So? What’d they say? Are we done?” Charlie grills me the instant I set a toe in his bedroom.

“Take a wild guess,” I answer.

Sitting up in bed and readjusting the bandage on his shoulder, he nods to himself. He knew it was coming. If they didn’t fire us, they’d be fools. “Did they say anything about me?” he asks.

At the foot of the bed, I dump the boxful of his desk toys all over his childhood comforter. “They wanted to make you a partner, but only if they could keep your Silly Putty. Naturally, I told them it was nonnegotiable, but I think we can counter with some Matchbox cars. The good ones, of course, not the crappy knockoffs.”

As I say the words, he’s completely confused. The result, he expected. But not my reaction. “This isn’t a joke, Ollie. Whatta we do now? Mom can’t support two apartments.”

“I totally agree.” I leave the bedroom and return two seconds later dragging an enormous army-green duffel bag. With a grunt, I heave it on the bed, letting it bounce next to him. “That’s why we’re downsizing to one.” As Charlie whips open the zipper, he spots my neatly folded clothes inside.

“So you’re actually going through with this? You’re really moving back in?”

“I hope so – I just spent twenty-three bucks on my last cab ride. Those things’ll cost you a fortune.”

Narrowing his eyes, Charlie picks me apart. “Okay, what’s the punchline?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, no, no,” he insists. “Don’t play that game show with me, Monty. I was there when you found that apartment and moved into your own place. I remember how proud you were that day. In college, all your friends lived in the dorms, and you had to live at home and commute. But once you graduated… once you signed that lease and took your first step on the yellow brick road of success… I know what it meant, Ollie. So now that you’re moving back in, don’t tell me you’re not devastated.”

“But I’m not.”

“But you’re not,” he agrees, still searching my face. It may be a temporary move, but it’s a good one.

“So you think this room can still sleep two?” I ask, motioning to the pyramid of speakers where my old bed used to be.

“Two’s fine – I’m just happy it’s not three,” he says suspiciously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, your girlfriend Beth called earlier. She said your phone was disconnected.”

“And…”

“And she wants to speak to you. She said the two of you broke up.”

This time, I don’t respond.

“So who broke up with who?” Charlie asks.

“Does it matter?”

“Actually, it does,” he says, touching the hairline scab that still hasn’t faded from his neck.

“Since when’re you so somber?”

“Just answer the question, Ollie.” He won’t say it, but it’s clear what my brother’s after. Life is always a test.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was the one who broke it off with her-”

“Ohhhh, Lordy, I’m healed… !” Charlie shouts, raising his shoulder in the air. “My arm – it works! My heart – it’s a pumpin’!”

I roll my eyes.

“Mmmmm, baby, can I get a hallelujah!?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’ll miss you too,” I say. “Now how about helping me move the rest of my stuff?”