A quick stop at the cafeteria gives me a pint of calm and a perfect excuse to explain why I ran out of the building. Still, that doesn't stop the Secret Service agent stationed at the front door from adding another mark next to my name…and one next to Charlie's.
"Don't you want to kiss our asses?" Charlie asks the agent.
The agent glares at us as if the mark next to our names is enough to bring us to our knees, but we both know the truth: if they had even the slightest suspicion, they'd lead us out of the bank in handcuffs. Instead, we are entering the building.
Most days I head straight for the elevator. Today the situation is clearly different. I follow Charlie as he walks past the teller's marble-counter window, letting him drag me into the maze of desks. As always, it's full of gossipy employees, but today they seem to be at their peak.
-How are you? says Jeff from New Jersey. He intercepts our march to pat Charlie on the chest.
"Here we are," Charlie sings. My daily pat on the chest. Strange to many... revered by a few.
Jeff laughs; we stopped a few steps from the elevator.
"You know I'm right," Charlie says, enjoying every moment.
I'm tempted to drag him toward the elevator, but it's clear what my brother is looking for. Maybe Jersey Jeff invades your personal space too much, but when it comes to office gossip, even I know he's the queen bee.
"What's the story with Mr. Assistance?" Charlie asks, nodding toward the blond guy standing by the front entrance.
Jeff flashes a wide smile. He finally gets a chance to bluff.
"They say he's running a security check, but no one bought it. I mean, how stupid do you think we are?
"Pretty stupid?" Charlie proposes.
"Very stupid," Jeff agrees. -What do you think? I ask with the patience of… well… the patience of someone who just stole three hundred and thirteen million dollars.
"Hard to say, hard to say," Jeff replies. But if I had to guess…" He leans toward us, enjoying the moment. I bet on a robbery. An inside job.
-Than? Charlie whispers, feigning outrage. By the look on my face, he can tell perfectly well that I'm about to lose my temper.
"It's just a theory," Jeff says. But you know how things are, you don't change a roll of toilet paper in this place without sending a memo first. And all of a sudden they decide to change all the security without even warning?
"Maybe they wanted to see what our usual operation was," I say.
—And maybe they didn't want to yell fire with the theater full of people. It's just like when they caught that chick taking money from Accounts Payable...they tried to keep things under control. They are not stupid. If it becomes public, customers will panic and start withdrawing their money.
"I wouldn't be so sure," he added, refusing to budge. "Hey, you can believe what you want, but there's got to be a very powerful reason why all the big shots are gathered on the fourth floor right now."
The fourth floor. Charlie looks at me.
"There's my desk," says his look.
-As you say? he asks.
Jeff smiles. That was what he was keeping for himself.
"Well, yes," he says, returning to his desk. They've been there all morning...
I look at Charlie and he looks at me.
Fourth floor.
The instant the elevator door opens, Charlie steps out onto the gray carpet and does a quick reconnaissance. The photocopier room; the coffee machine; the cannon-shaped cubicle that stands in the center of the room; everything seems to be in its place. Carts with mail roll through the room, keyboards resound and a few groups are chatting. However, you don't have to be a genius to know where the action is; There's only one place on this floor where the big shots can hide. As we make our way to Charlie's desk as if it were any other day, we both stare at the far end of the room. The cage.
It's impossible to tell if they're really there or if Jeff was bluffing him. The door is closed. It is always closed. But that doesn't stop us from looking, studying the grain of the wood, the shine of the knob, even the tiny black buttons on the coded lock. I could easily get in, but... not today. Not until we...
"Call Shep…find out where he is," I whisper as we walk into Charlie's cubicle. My brother sits on one knee in the chair, his head a few inches below the top edge of the cube. He picks up the phone and dials Shep's number. I lean in to listen without taking my eyes off Mary's door. Shep usually answers the first call, he's paid to be paranoid. Not today. Today the phone keeps ringing.
I don't think Shep...
"Shhhhhh," he interrupted. Something happens.
Charlie jumps up from his chair and studies The Cage. The door opens slowly and the room empties. Through the hallway we see that Quincy is the first out, followed by Lapidus. He lowered his head. Charlie remains upright. It's his desk.
"Who else is with them?" I whisper with my chin kissing the computer keyboard.
Charlie keeps his eyes on the door and raises both hands in the air, pretending he's doing a stretch.
"Behind Lapidus is Mary," he begins to say.
-Someone else?
Yes, but I don't know them...
I raise my head to take a brief look. When Mary emerges from The Cage, she is followed by a short, stocky guy dressed in a suit that looks awful on her. He walks with a slight limp and keeps scratching his scalp just above the nape of his neck. Even with the limp, he has the same solid look as Shep. Secret Service. Behind Mr. Chubby is another agent, much finer in both hair and weight, carrying what appears to be a black shoebox with a few dangling wires. The FBI guys had a similar thing when they prosecuted that woman from Accounts Payable. You connect it to the computer and instantly get a copy of the user's hard drive. It's the easiest way to keep the place calm, don't let them see you confiscating computers, just take the evidence in a discreet bag.
As the door to The Cage swings open, I catch a glimpse of Mary's computer on her desk. The hard drive slot is sealed. Nothing goes in; nothing comes out.