The Millionaires

50

“What floor?” Charlie asks early Thursday morning as we step into the elevator.

“Seven,” I say as he pushes the button. I straighten my tie; Charlie licks his hand and flattens his matted blond hair. If we’re going to reprise our roles as bankers, we have to look the part. Next to us, Gillian does the female equivalent with her long flowered skirt. When she’s done smoothing it out, she looks my way. Letting my eyes linger on her legs, I can’t help but stare – that is, until I notice Charlie watching me. I glance at the floor; he shakes his head. You can’t fool little brothers.

The elevator jerks to a stop and the doors slip open. In the hallway, a tasteful and understated (for Miami) silver-and-gold logo hangs on the wall: shaped like a star, but with a circle at the end of each point. The silver letters across the bottom tell us we’ve reached our destination: Five Points Capital – where Duckworth made his deal.

Gillian bounces off the brass railing of the elevator and glides out. Before I can follow, Charlie grabs me by the arm. “You touched her cookies, didn’t you?” he whispers.

“What’re you talking about?” I ask, annoyed as I step out of the elevator.

“That’s the best you can muster? Anger, but no denial?”

This time, I don’t answer.

“When was it? Last night? When you went to get the clothes this morning?”

Pulling out of his grip, I make a hard left and head for the glass doors of the reception area. Charlie’s right behind me. He doesn’t have to say it. From here on in, he’s not letting me out of his sight.

“You sure you’re ready?” Gillian asks, reading what she thinks is fear on my face.

“I’m fine,” I say, still eyeing Charlie. But as I take a deep breath, reality collides. He sees it on my face. It’s one thing to call up and ask for an appointment. It’s quite another to pull it off.

To the right of the doors, a small sign says Ring Bell for Reception. But it’s what’s above the bell that gets our attention – a gray keypad that looks like the one we have at the bank. Next to the numbers, though, there’s also a flat space just big enough for a thumbprint. Biometric ID it says across the top.

I ring the bell, and Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Fingerprint recognition?” he asks. “Someone’s taking themselves a bit too seriously.”

A receptionist with teased brown hair looks up and buzzes us in. Charlie’s first in line, ambassador of smiles. Every bigshot needs an assistant. “Hi, we called this morning…” he says, copying my salesman voice and pointing my way. “From Greene Bank – I have Henry Lapidus here to see Mr. Katkin.”

“Of course,” she says as she nods at me. “I’ll page him for you, Mr. Lapidus.”

Charlie grinds his teeth as she says the name. You sure this is right? he asks with a glance.

Trust me, I insist. Over the past four years, I’ve taken tons of clients on the venture capital roadshow. And even in Florida, it takes a big name to open a big door.

Fidgeting with the tie he borrowed from Duckworth, Charlie sits back on the cream-colored sofa. The instant Gillian sits next to him, he gets up and paces. I scowl, but he doesn’t care. Ignoring me, he pretends to check out the view of Brickell Avenue from the enormous plate glass windows.

“Mr. Lapidus, can you please sign in for me?” the receptionist asks me. She points to a free-standing computer kiosk right next to her desk. Onscreen, there’s a blank for your name. I type in Henry Lapidus and hit Enter. Behind the receptionist, a high-tech laser printer hums and spits out an ID sticker. Henry Lapidus – Visitor. But unlike a normal guest pass, the front of this one has a liquid, almost translucent quality to it. Underneath, if you angle it in the light, the word Expired appears in faint red letters.

“What’s this made of?” I ask, rubbing my thumb against the smooth pass.

“Aren’t they wild?” the receptionist croons. “After eight hours, the ink on the front dissolves and the Expired part becomes bright red.”

I nod, impressed.

“You guys take security pretty seriously, don’t you?” Charlie adds.

“We don’t have a choice,” the receptionist says with a laugh. “I mean… considering who we’re partners with…”

“Totally,” Charlie says, forcing his own fake laugh.

“Absolutely,” I agree.

We stare at the woman. She stares right back. We’re clueless.

“So what’s it like working with them?” Charlie asks, searching for details.

“Honestly? It’s not that big a deal. I thought they’d show up in dark suits and sunglasses – but they’re like everyone else – they put on their tank tops one armhole at a time.”

Charlie eyes me; I eye Gillian.

“The only difference is, we now get government tank tops,” she adds with a laugh.

My whole face freezes. “You’re part of the government?”

“Not directly, but-” Cutting herself off, she adds, “Oh, I’m sorry – I thought you knew. It’s in all our clippings…” She hands me a press kit in a forest green folder.

I flip it open as Charlie and Gillian read over my shoulder. It’s right there on the front page: Welcome to Five Points Capital, the venture fund of the United States Secret Service.

Behind us, a door swings open. “Mr. Lapidus?” a baritone voice asks. We turn around and a tall man with military shoulders and thick forearms extends a handshake. His watch has a gold presidential seal. “Brandt Katkin,” he introduces himself. “Please… c’mon in.”