The Millionaires

17

I don’t turn the phone back on until I’m ten blocks away. And even as it flicks on, it takes me another block and a half to work up the nerve to dial. For strength, I think of Charlie. As I wait for someone to answer, I try to keep my balance in the back of the bus while it crawls uptown and crashes through the city’s potholes. Sure, the subway is more inconspicuous, but last I checked, my phone didn’t get a signal underground. And right now, I need to keep moving – anything to put distance between me and the church.

“Welcome to Greene & Greene Private Bank. How can I assist you?” a female voice sings through my cell phone. I’m not sure who it belongs to, but it’s not any of the phonebankers I know. Good. That means she doesn’t know me.

“Hi, this is Marty Duckworth,” I say. “I had a quick question I was hoping you could help me with.” As she checks my account and Social Security number, I can’t help but wonder whether the bank’s system is even going to be up and running. If the Secret Service were smart, they would’ve already shut it d-

“I have your account right in front of me. Now what can I help you with today, Mr. Duckworth?” She says the words so quickly… so eagerly… I can’t help but smell a trap. Too bad for me, I need the cheese.

“Actually, I just wanted to check the most recent activity on my account,” I tell her. “There was a large deposit that came in, and I need to know what day it posted.” Clearly, it’s a nonsense question, but if we plan on figuring out what’s going on, we need to know how Duckworth’s three million turned into three hundred and thirteen.

“I’m sorry, sir, but in the last week… I’m not showing any deposits.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m looking at it right now. According to our records, your current balance is zero, and the only activity on record is a three-hundred-and-thirteen-million-dollar withdrawal yesterday afternoon. Other than that, there were no deposits to-”

“What about the day before?” I ask, watching the passengers on the bus. No one turns around. “What was the balance on the day before?”

There’s a short pause. “Not including interest, it’s the same amount, sir – three hundred and thirteen million. And it’s the same on the day before. I have no record of any recent deposits.”

The bus bucks to a halt and I grab a metal pole for balance. “Are you sure the balance wasn’t three million dollars?”

“I’m sorry, sir – I’m just telling you what’s on my screen.”

She says the words and my hand slides down around the pole. It can’t be. It’s not possible. How can we -?

“Mr. Duckworth…?” the woman on the other line interrupts. “Can you hold on a second? I’ll be right back.”

“Of course,” I agree. The line goes silent, and for thirty seconds I don’t think much of it. After a minute, I can’t help but wonder where my phonebanker went – it’s the first rule they teach you – when you’re dealing with rich people, you’re never supposed to put them on hol… hold on. My chest twitches. This is still a company line. And the longer she keeps me on it, the easier it is for the Secret Service to tra-

I slap the phone shut, hoping I’m fast enough. There’s no way they can do it that fast. Not when it’s-

The phone vibrates in my hand, sending a frozen chill across the back of my neck. I check the number on Caller ID, but it’s nothing I recognize. Last time, I ignored it. This time… if they’re tracing it… I need to know.

“Hello?” I answer, keeping it confident.

“Where the hell are you?” Charlie asks. There’s no phone in the chapel. If he’s risking a call from the street, we’ve got problems.

“What’s wrong? Are you-?”

“You better get back here,” he demands.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Oliver, get back here. Now!”

I pound the bus’s Stop-Request strip with the base of my fist. Goodbye frying pan – Hello, fire.