-What are you saying? Do you think it is a setup?
"I haven't the foggiest idea, but think about how easy it was: some guy calls, threatens you that he wants the forty million bucks from him, then gives you an account number and says Do It.
I look back at the eleven-digit account number glowing on the screen in front of me.
-I do not insist-. It's not possible. It's not possible? It's like that novel they publish every year: the bad guy deceives the hero from the beginning...
"This is not a stupid book!" - scream-. It's about my life!
"It's about our lives," Charlie adds. And all I'm saying is that the moment you press that button, the money could go directly to some bank in the Bahamas.
My eyes remain riveted on the glow given off by the account number. The more I look at it, the more it seems to glow.
—And you know very well who will take it if that money disappears...
Charlie is very cautious in saying it. As we both know, Greene & Greene is not like a normal bank. Citibank, Bank of America... those are big faceless corporations. Not here. We are still a narrowly constituted society. For our clients, this keeps us exempt from some government reporting requirements, which helps us maintain confidentiality; which keeps our names out of the documents; which allows us to choose only the clients we want. As I said: you do not open an account with Greene. We open it with you. In return, partners get to manage large amounts of money with more freedom. More importantly—as I'm still looking at Tanner's forty million dollar transfer—each partner is personally responsible for all assets in the bank. At last balance sheet, we controlled thirteen trillion dollars. Billions. With B. Divided by twelve partners.
Forget Tanner. Now I can only think of Lapidus. My boss. And the person who will make me swallow the termination letter if I lose one of the most important clients of the bank.
"I'm telling you, it can't possibly be a setup," I insist. Last week I heard Lapidus talking about this transfer. I mean, it's not like Tanner called from anywhere.
"Unless, of course, Lapidus is part of..."
"Do you want to quit now?" You're starting to sound like... like...
"Like someone who knows what he's talking about?"
"No, like some paranoid lunatic oblivious to reality.
—I must tell you that I am offended by the word "lunatic". And by the words "other than".
Maybe we should call him to make sure.
Not a bad idea, Charlie says.
The clock on the wall says I have four minutes left. What's the worst a phone call can do?
I quickly look up Tanner's home number in the Customer Directory. Only the phone number of the family office is listed. Sometimes privacy touches your balls. Having no choice, I dial the number and look at my watch. Three and a half minutes.
"Drew Family Office," a woman answers.
"I'm Oliver Caruso with Greene & Greene. I need to speak to Mr. Drew. It is an emergency.
"What kind of emergency?" she asks. I can practically hear the mocking tone.
"Forty million dollars." There is a pause.
-Please wait.
"Are you looking for him?" Charlie asks.
I ignore her question, return to the wire transfer menu, and move the cursor to Send. Charlie sits back on the arm of the chair and grabs my shirt tightly around his shoulder.
"Mom needs a new pair of heels…" she whispers.
Thirty seconds later, I hear the secretary at the other end of the line again.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Caruso, but Mr. Drew isn't answering.
"Do you have a cell phone?"
"Sir, I'm not sure he understands..."
"Actually, I understand perfectly." Now I need her name so I can tell Mr. Drew who I've been talking to.
Another pause.
-Hold on please.
We have one minute and ten seconds left. I know the bank is in sync with the Federal Reserve, but the process can only be interrupted at the last minute.
-What are you thinking to do? Charlie asks.
"We'll get it," I tell him. fifty seconds.
My eyes are fixed on the digital Send button. At the top of the screen the line that says forty million dollars has already disappeared, but now it's all I see.
I put the phone in Speakerphone mode to have my hands free. I feel the pressure of Charles's hand increase on my shoulder.
Thirty seconds.
"Where the hell has that woman gone?"
My hand shakes so badly on the mouse that the cursor moves all over the screen. We don't have a chance.
"She. She's here," Charlie says. The time has come to make a decision.
He is right. The problem is... I... I just can't do it. I turn to my brother for help. He doesn't say anything, but I can hear everything perfectly. He knows where we come from. He knows that I have been killing myself for four years in this bank. For all of us, this job is our escape route from the ER. With twenty seconds left, Charlie nods with a barely perceptible movement.
That's all I need, just a little push to eat the dandelion. I look at the monitor again. Press the button, I tell myself. But when I'm about to do it, my whole body freezes. My stomach begins to disintegrate and the world becomes a blur.
-Come on! Charlie yells.
The words resonate, but are lost. We are in the final seconds.
"Oliver, push that fucking button!"
He says something else, but all I feel is the violent tug at my shirt. Charlie pushes me away and leans forward. I see his hand come down at full speed and pound the mouse with a clenched fist. On screen, the Send icon becomes his own negative, then reappears. Three seconds later a rectangular box appears on the screen: Status: Pending.
"Does that mean we've...?" Status: Approved.
Now Charlie understands what we're looking at. I also. Status: Paid.
That's it. All sent. A forty million dollar email.