The Millionaires

88

Just like Charlie predicted, it’s the staring that’s the worst. Forget the whispering, and the unsubtle pointing, and even the way they walk past me as the gossip burns its way through the office. All those I can live with. But as I sit in the oh-so-pristine first-floor conference room and gaze through the plate glass window that separates me from my former bank co-workers, I can’t help but feel like the monkey in the zoo. Scurrying through the maze of rolltop desks, they’re trying their best to play it cool. But each time one of them passes – each time someone steps off the elevator, or races to the copy machine, or even sits back at their desk – their head turns for a split second and they hit me with that stare: part curiosity, part moral judgment. Some pepper it with shame; others add a smidgen of disgust.

It’s been two weeks since the news hit, but this is their first chance to actually see it for themselves. And even though most of them have made up their minds, there are still a few who want to know if it’s true. Those are the hardest ones to face. Whatever else Charlie and I did to save the day, it still was never our money.

For almost a full hour, I sit there and take the beating of their stares and whispers and awkward pointing. I try to make eye contact, but that’s when they look away. On most days, only the lowest of the worker bees are caught in the hive of rolltop desks by the front entrance. Today, by the end of the first half-hour, almost every employee in the bank has found an excuse to come down and check out the monkey behind the glass. That’s why they put me here in the first place. If they wanted to make it easy, they could’ve snuck me through the rock star entrance around back and whisked me upstairs in the private elevator. Instead, they’ve decided to put on a show and remind me that my private elevator days are over. Like everything at Greene & Greene, it’s all about perception.

The traffic peaks when Lapidus and Quincy finally make their entrance. They don’t say anything to me directly. Everything’s done through their lawyer – a nasty mosquito with a high-pitched drone. He tells me that they’re withholding my final paycheck until the full investigation is complete, that my health benefits are terminated effective immediately, that they’ll seek legal recourse if I contact any current or former bank clients, and as a cherry on top, that they’ll be contacting the SEC and the banking regulatory agencies with the hope that it’ll stop me from working at any other bank in the future.

“Fine,” I say. “Are you done?”

The lawyer looks to Lapidus and Quincy. Both nod.

“Wonderful,” I say. “Then this is for you…” I slap a letter-sized blue-and-white envelope onto the desk and slide it across to Lapidus. It’s blank on top. Lapidus glances at the lawyer.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a summons,” I tell him.

Flipping it over, Lapidus notices his own shredded signature across the back flap.

It’s the only reason I came back here today…

He opens the envelope and unfolds my business school recommendation letter.

… I wanted to see his face. And let him know I knew.

He keeps his eyes on the letter, refusing to look my way. The discomfort alone makes every second worth it. Folding it up, he stuffs it back in the envelope and heads silently for the door.

“Where’re you going?” Quincy asks.

Lapidus doesn’t answer. He and Quincy may’ve never been involved with the money and everything that happened, but that doesn’t make them saints.

The meeting itself takes a total of six minutes. Four years to build this life. Six minutes to scrap it. The lawyer asks me to wait here while they gather my things.

As they leave, the door slams behind them, and I look out through the glass window into the lobby. Throughout the room, two dozen employees once again look away. The bandaged cut on my stomach stings every time I shift my weight. And my once broken nose stings every time I breathe. But this stings worse.

Twenty-five minutes later, nothing’s changed. The zoo’s still open. I throw a nod to Jersey Jeff; he pretends not to see it. Mary comes out of the elevator and refuses to acknowledge I’m there. For four years, I killed myself for the partners, made money for the clients, and immersed myself in every nitpicky detail the bank had to offer. But in all those years, I never made a single friend.

Trying not to think about it, I stare down at the inlaid mahogany conference table. It’s the same table that I sat at to close my first client, which got Lapidus’s attention and moved me from the first floor up to the seventh. Today, as my eyes trace the pattern of the antique mahogany, I angle my head and spot a nasty scratch that runs like a scar across the center of the table. I never noticed it before. But I bet it was always there.

Eventually exhausted by the waiting game, I stand up to leave. Yet just as I push my chair out, there’s a loud knock against the conference room door.

“Come in,” I say, though the door’s already swinging open.

As it slams into the wall, I study the familiar figure who’s carrying two cardboard banker’s boxes. Unsure of what to say, Joey hesitantly steps into the room and lowers both boxes to the table. One’s filled with management books and my cheap imitation banker’s lamp, the other’s filled with Play-Doh and the rest of Charlie’s toys.

“They… uh… they asked me to bring you these,” she offers, her voice unusually quiet.

I nod and flip through the contents of the box. The sterling silver pen set I bought with my first bonus. And the leather blotter I bought when I got my first raise. Naturally, the Art Deco clock I got from Lapidus isn’t there. I’m guessing he pulled it off the wall last week.

“I’m sorry they wouldn’t let you up there,” Joey explains. “It’s just that after everything that happened, the insurance company asked me to-”

“No, I understand,” I interrupt. “Everyone has to do their job.”

“Yeah… well… some jobs are easier than others.”

“No doubt about that.” I look her in the face. Unlike everyone else, she doesn’t turn away. Instead, she stays with me… studying… absorbing my reaction. It’s the first time I’ve seen her up close – and without a gun in her hand. “Listen, Ms. Lemont…”

“Joey.”

“Joey,” I repeat. “I just… I just wanted to say thanks for what you did. For me… and for Charlie.”

“Oliver, all I did was tell the truth.”

“I’m not talking about the testimony – I meant with Shep. With saving us…”

“I almost got you killed. That bluff about being on the phone with Lapidus…”

“… was the only way to find out what was really going on. Besides, if you hadn’t come in when you did – and then with Charlie’s medication-”

“Like you said, we all do our jobs,” she adds with a grin. It’s the only smile I’ve seen all day. And means more than she’ll ever know.

“So what happens now?” I ask her. “Were you able to get all the money back?”

“Money? What money?” Joey asks with a laugh. “That’s not money anymore – it’s just an assortment of ones and zeros assigned to a computer.”

“But the account in Antigua…”

“Once you gave us the location, they sent every penny straight back – but you saw how Duckworth designed the worm. The three million… the three hundred million… none of it was real. Sure, the computers thought it was real, and yes, it fooled every bank you sent it to – that was the genius of the program – but that doesn’t mean the money was actually there. Say hello to the cold hard cash of the future. It may look like a dollar, and act like a dollar, but that doesn’t make it a dollar.”

“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.