The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [118]
“So Duckworth invented it, Gallo and DeSanctis took it over, and somewhere along the way, they found an inside man who helped them bury it in the bank,” Charlie adds. “It’s your call, Ollie—who’s the bigger lowlife, Lapidus or Quincy?”
I shake my head and replay my two seconds in Lapidus’s office. There was one other person there. “It makes sense, but… How do you know it wasn’t Shep? I mean, he is former Secret Serv—”
“It wasn’t Shep,” Charlie interrupts. “Trust me, he wouldn’t do that.”
“But if he—”
“It wasn’t Shep!” he insists.
I stare at Charlie in the backseat. Gillian watches from her mirror. Better not to argue. Still, Duckworth had to have had some help.
“Maybe that’s where the photos come in,” I continue. “Maybe they were the other people who were in on it… from the black market… or other rogue agents from the Secret Service—Duckworth could’ve been keeping their pictures as insurance.”
“Then why didn’t he have photos of Gallo and DeSanctis?” Gillian asks.
It’s a good question. Jerking the wheel toward the exit, Gillian leaves the causeway behind and curves onto Alton Road. I stare back down at the photos. They’re not glossy, like an actual print. They’re flat—like they came from a color printer.
“Any ideas?” Gillian asks.
“Not really. But when you look at them side by side… the stiff poses… don’t they look like ID photos?”
“Y’mean like a driver’s license?” Gillian asks.
“Or a passport,” Charlie says.
“Or maybe a company ID card…” I add.
“At least we saw Katkin’s reaction,” she says. “That alone tells us they weren’t people from the VC.”
“I still think they’re people your dad trusted,” Charlie says. “It’s like the nondisclosure agreement—you don’t safekeep things that’ll get you in trouble—you keep what you want to protect.”
The car bucks at a red light and Gillian nods at Charlie in the rearview. She knows a good theory when she hears it. “What if they’re people who helped him with the original idea?”
“Or people he confided in,” Charlie blurts.
“What’s that game company he worked at after Disney?” I ask, suddenly feeling the pump of excitement.
“Neowerks—I think they’re in Broward…”
“I saw the address on an old pay stub,” Charlie jumps in. “In the file cabinet.” There’s a pregnant pause. All three of us trade glances and taste the adrenaline in the air.
Gillian pulls a hard right down Tenth Street and lurches to a halt in front of her house.
“How far are we from Broward?” Charlie asks.
“Forty minutes at the most,” Gillian replies.
“I’ll make some phone calls—set up an appointment,” I offer, kicking open the car door and helping Charlie squeeze out from the back. Gillian stays put.
“Aren’t you coming?” I ask.
“I should check in and make sure I still have a job—I’ll be back in ten minutes.” She tosses me the house keys, and with a wave, she’s gone.
“Oh, I miss her already,” Charlie says. Swiping the keys, he charges up the concrete path and bolts through the front door. Inside, he goes for the files; I slam the door and head for the phone. But when we hear the locks slide behind us, we follow the sound and spin around. That’s when we notice all the shades are closed. The whole place is dark. And then… in the corner… we hear a click. A lamp flicks on in the living room. Every ounce of air leaves my chest.
“Nice to see you, Oliver,” Gallo says from his seat on the sofa. “Now here’s the part that hurts…”
Back by the door, a shadow arches, pouncing toward us. Charlie turns and tries to run, but it’s too late. An arm slices the air toward him. Behind me, Gallo grabs me around the neck. And the last thing I see is DeSanctis’s fist as it collides with my brother’s face.
54
Welcome to Miami Airport—how can