I hang up the phone and we both look at the fax sheet.
-I can not believe it.
"Me neither," Charlie sings. Is it an X-Files right now?
"It's not a joke," I insist. Whoever sent this... almost made off with three million bucks.
-What are you talking about?
"If you think about it, it's the perfect crime. You pose as someone who has died, ask for their money, and once the account has been reactivated, you close the business and disappear. You can be sure that Marty Duckworth won't complain.
"But what about the government?" Charlie asks. Won't they realize that his money has disappeared?
"They haven't the foggiest idea," he said, waving the list of abandoned accounts. We send you a list without the accounts that have been reactivated. They are happy getting some fresh money.
Charlie fidgets at the end of the bed and I can see his gears turning. When you eat dandelion, everything becomes an exciting journey.
"Who do you think he did it?" - He asks.
"I have no idea... but it has to be someone from the bank."
His eyes widen.
-So you think?
"Who else might know when we send out the final notification letters?" Not to mention the fact that the fax was sent from a store around the corner...
Charlie nods in agreement in a steady rhythm.
-What do we do now?
-Are you kidding? We wait until Monday and then we hand the bastard over to the police.
His head no longer moves.
-Are you sure?
"What do you mean if I'm sure?" What else can we do? Do we keep that money?
"I'm not saying that, but…" Again, Charlie's face turns purple. What would it be like to have three million dollars? I mean, it would be like... it would be like...
"It would be like having money," he interrupted.
—And not just any money, we're talking about three million bucks. Charlie jumps up and his speech speeds up. With that dough I would... wear a white tuxedo and hold a glass of red wine and say things like "I'm waiting for an old friend for dinner...
"Not me," I say, shaking my head. I would pay the hospital, take care of all the bills, and then invest the rest of the money.
"Come now, Scrooge, what's the matter with you?" You have to have some crazy project... throw the house out the window... what would you buy?
"And do I have to buy something?"
I think about it for a moment. I would put a wall-to-wall carpet...
"A wall-to-wall carpet?" Is that for the best that...?
"For my little pup!" I exclaim. A puppy that we would have chained up in the yard.
Charlie laughs out loud at my quip. The game has started. His eyes sparkle at the challenge.
"I'd buy a circus."
—I would buy Cirque du Soleil. — I would buy Cirque du Soleil and rename it Cirque du Sole. It would be a three-track show exclusively with fish.
I smile, I don't give up.
"In my bathroom I would have the best quality fur covered toilet seat, as if you were taking a shit sitting on a valuable rodent.
"That would be very nice," Charlie concedes. But never as nice as my golden spaghetti!
"Diamond-encrusted bread.
"Sapphire-studded blueberry scones.
"Lobster stuffed ribs... or lobster stuffed ribs!" Maybe even both! -scream.
Charlie nods.
"I'd buy the Internet…and all the porn sites."
-Magnificent. Very elegant.
-I try.
"I know you're trying, that's why I'd buy Orlando from you."
"Are we talking about Tony Orlando or are we talking about Florida?" Charlie asks.
I look directly into his eyes. -Both of them.
-Both of them? Charlie laughs, finally impressed.
—You have doubted! I won! I exclaim.
It had been a long time since Charlie had been the first to throw in the towel. It's not every day that he gets to beat a true master at his own game.
"See, that's what I'm talking about," he finally says. Why should we spend another day breaking our backs at the bank when we can buy ourselves puppies and Internets and lobsters?
"You're absolutely right, Charles," I say in my best British accent. And best of all, no one would find out where all that money has gone.
Charlie pauses.
"They couldn't find out, right?"
I put aside my character. -What are you talking about?
"Is it really that crazy, Ollie?" He asks now with a serious expression. I mean, who's going to miss that money? The owner's dead... he's about to be robbed by someone... and if the government gets hold of him... well, no doubt they'll put all that money to good use, right?
I feel very upright in bed.
"Charlie, I hate to have to bust your seventeenth fantasy of the day, but we're talking about something illegal. Say it out loud... ileeeegaaaal.
He gives me a look I haven't seen since our last fight over Mom. Motherfucker. He is not kidding.
"You said it yourself, Oliver, it's the perfect crime...
"That doesn't mean it's okay!"
"Don't talk to me about what's right or wrong. Rich people...big companies...they steal from the government every day and nobody talks, but instead of stealing, we just call it financial engineering and corporate prosperity.
The typical dreamer.
"Come on, Charlie, you know the world isn't perfect...
"I'm not asking for perfection, but do you know how many cracks there are in the tax code for the rich? Or for a large corporation that can afford a good lobbyist? When guys like Tanner Drew file their 1040EZ, they barely pay a dollar in income tax. But in Mom's case—she doesn't make twenty-eight thousand dollars a year—half of what she has goes directly to Uncle Sam.
-That is not true; I arranged for the bank's experts...
"Don't tell me now that they're saving Mom a few bucks, Oliver. It won't make any difference. Between the mortgage, the credit cards, and all the other debts Dad left us when he died, do you have any idea how long it will take us to pay off the debt? And that doesn't even include what we owe the hospital. How much is the debt right now? Eighty thousand dollars? Eighty-two thousand dollars?
"Eighty-one thousand four hundred and fifty dollars," I clarify. But just because you feel guilty about the hospital, doesn't mean we have to...
"It's not about guilt, it's about eighty thousand dollars, Ollie!" Do you really realize what that means? And it increases every time we go to visit one of the doctors!
-I have a plan...
"Fucking motherfucker, your brilliant fifty-step plan!" How was it? Lapidus and the bank help you get into business school, which will help you climb the ranks, which will make all our debts go away, right? Because I hate to remind you, Ollie, but you've been at the bank for four years and Mom is still breathing hospital fumes. We are hardly managing to reduce the debt; This is our chance to get her out of there. Think of the years that will add to her life! Mom will no longer have to be a second-class patient...
"She's not second class.
"Yes it is, Ollie. And so are we," Charlie insists. I'm sorry if all this ruins your precious self-esteem, but the time has come to find a way to get it out of there. Everyone deserves a chance to start over, especially mom.
When the words leave Charlie's lips, I feel like they pierce my stomach. He knows exactly what he is doing. Taking care of our mother has always been the top priority. For both. Of course, that doesn't mean I should follow him over the edge of the cliff.
"I don't need to become a thief.
"Who's talking about thieves?" Charlie asks defiantly. Thieves steal from people. This money does not belong to anyone. Duckworth is dead, you tried to contact his family, and he has no one. We would only be taking money that nobody will miss. And even if something did go wrong, we can always blame whoever faxed that letter. I mean, that guy's in no shape to rat us out.
"Okay, Lenin, so when we're done redistributing the wealth, we'll just hit the road and be on the run for the rest of our lives. There's no doubt that's the best way to help Mom, to leave her and...
We don't have to abandon anyone," he insists. We'll do exactly what this guy is doing, transfer the money and not touch it until we're sure it's safe. When seven years have passed, the FBI closes the investigation.
"Who says so?"
I read an article in the Village Voice...
"The Village Voice?"
—We don't make noise, it's only been seven years, then we're just another unresolved file. Case closed.
"And then what do we do?" Do we retire to the coast, open a bar and write cheesy songs for the rest of our lives?
"It's a lot better than spending another four years kissing corporate asses and getting nowhere.
I jump out of bed and Charlie realizes that he has exceeded all limits.
"You know that the School of Business Administration is the best way out, and you also know that I can't go straight after college," he insisted, waving his index finger in her face. First you have to work a couple of years.
-Fine. A couple of years... that's two. You are finishing the room.
I take a deep breath and try not to lose the initiative.
"Charlie, I've applied to the best schools in the country. Harvard, Pennsylvania, Chicago, Columbia. That's where I want to go, anything else is second rate and doesn't help anyone, including mom.
"And who decided that, you or Lapidus?"
"What is that question supposed to mean?"
"How many opportunities have you passed up just because Lapidus put his big plans for the School of Business Administration into your head?" How many offers have you rejected from other companies? You know as well as I that you should have left the bank several years ago. Instead, you've received one after another of rejection letters from business schools. And do you think that this year things will be different? You should broaden your horizons a bit. I mean, it's like your relationship with Beth. Granted, you make a good couple, but that's all; Nice photograph, Oliver, a Sears portrait of how you think things should be. You are one of the brightest and most dynamic people I know. Stop being so afraid of living.
"Then stop judging me!" - she exploded.
-I'm not judging you...
"No, you're just asking me that I stole three million dollars...that that will solve all my problems!"
"I'm not saying it's the answer to all prayers, but it's the only way we'll ever get out of this situation once and for all."
"That's where you're wrong!" The Scream-. You may find it extremely exciting to collect scraps of paper in the file room, but I have my eyes set on something bigger. Trust me, Charlie; once she's out of business school, mom will never see another bill again. You can sneer and make all the jokes you want, ok, the path is safe and it may seem simple, but the only thing that matters right now is that it works. And when it's time to get paid, that three million dollars will seem like the price of a bus ticket from Brooklyn.
"And that's what it's all about, isn't it?" Well, let me tell you, buddy, you may think you're traveling to the top in a private jet, but from my riverside all I can see is you standing in line just like the rest of the low-class slackers out there. you hated at one time. A slacker like dad.