-As you say? I ask, as Charlie steps up next to me.
"I'm not kidding," Shep says. Three parts, one million each. "You must be kidding," Charlie says.
"So, you were the one who sent the first letter," I say.
Shep remains silent.
Charlie too. His teeth flutter over his lower lip. Half is unbelief and the other half is...
Charlie's face lights up.
"...it's pure adrenaline."
"This could be the best day of my life," Charlie exclaims.
This boy would be unable to hold a grudge against anyone even if he had it stuck to his chest. I'm different.
Turning to Shep, I add:
"You just stood here accusing us of committing a crime and now you expect us to shake hands and become partners?"
"Listen, Oliver, you can nag me all you want, but you have to understand that if you rat me out, I'll do the same to you.
I tilt my head to the side. -Are you threatening me?
"That depends on what you want the consequence of all this to be," says Shep.
Standing in front of my desk, I watch Shep intently. Deep down I may not be a thief, but I'm not a jerk either.
"We're all here for the same reason," Shep says quickly. So you can either be stubborn bastards or you can share the profits and walk away with some dough in your pockets.
"I vote for benefits," Charlie interrupts.
"Forget it," I say, heading for the door. I'm not that stupid. Shep catches up with me and grabs my arm. Not too hard, just to stop me.
"It's not about anything stupid, Oliver. As soon as Shep finishes the sentence the swaggering tone is gone. And also, the secret service. If I wanted to put the blame on you... or hand you over to the police... I'd be talking to Lapidus right now. Instead, I am here.
Even though I take my hand off of him, Shep has my full attention.
He looks at the New York University diploma hanging on the wall and studies it carefully.
—Do you think that you are the only ones who have that dream? When I went to work for the secret service, I thought I would go straight to the White House. Maybe I'd start with the vice president... work my way up to the first lady. It's a nice life when you think about it. But what I didn't realize was that before you go into Protection, you usually have to spend five years in Investigations: forgeries, financial crimes, all the anonymous work that never gets out.
So here I am, a few years out of Brooklyn College, in our office in Miami, Florida. In any case, on the way from Miami to Melbourne there was a wide stretch of unlit road. Drug dealers would land their small planes there, drop duffel bags full of money and drugs, and then their associates would pick them up and drive them to Miami.
"Night after night I fantasized about catching these guys, and each time the dream was the same: in the sky I saw the red lights of an approaching plane. Instinctively, I would turn off the lights in my car, slow down, and stumble across a khaki bag of ten million dollars in cash. Turning to us, Shep adds, If that ever happened, he was going to put the bag full of dough in the trunk, throw away the license plate and keep driving.
"Of course, the only problem was that I never found that plane. And after being denied promotions four times in a row and barely making ends meet on government pay, I realized I don't want to work until the day I'm buried. I saw what that did to my father... forty years for a simple handshake and a fake gold plaque. There has to be something more to life than that. And with Duckworth... a dead guy with three million dollars... maybe not as much as most of this bank's clients have, but I'll tell you what... for guys like us... this is the best we can get.
Charlie nods almost imperceptibly. The way Shep talks about his father... there are some things you can't make up.
"And how do we know you won't play Grab the Money and Run?" I ask him.
"How about I let you choose the destination of the transfer?" You can start from scratch... put the money in whatever shell company you want. I mean... with your old mother here... you won't run away for two million bucks. That's the only guarantee I need," Shep says, ignoring Charlie and watching my reaction. He knows exactly who he has to convince.
"And you really think it will work?" -I ask.
"Oliver, I've been looking into this matter for almost a year," Shep says, speaking faster and faster. In life there are only two perfect crimes, and I mean perfect, in which they can't get their hands on you: one is the one in which they kill you, which is not a highly recommended option. And the other is when no one knows that a crime has been committed. Him." He waves his sausage-shaped forearm in the air and points to the work papers on my desk. That is what they have given us on a silver platter. That's the good thing about this whole thing, Oliver," he says, lowering his voice. No one will ever know.
Whether the $3 million goes to Duckworth or to the government coffers, the money will come out of the bank anyway. And since he's not supposed to be here anymore, we don't have to run away or give up our lives. All we have to do is thank the forgetful dead millionaire. He - He pauses before finishing his argument and adds -. People wait their whole lives and never get an opportunity like this. It's even better than the plane and the bag full of tickets; the bank has spent the last six months trying to get in touch with his family. Any. Nobody knows. Nobody except us.