The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [141]
“Maybe you have to go through all four,” Gillian suggests.
“Hit it again,” I say.
“I did. It’s not going anywhere,” he says in full panic.
“Put in the address.”
Frantically passing me the keyboard, Charlie ducks out of the way as I type in the first half of the memorized address. Then he does his. The instant he hits Return, the screen hiccups toward a brand-new page.
“It’s fine. We’re still fine…” he says as we wait for the image to load. And for a second, it looks like he’s right. But as the page finally appears, my stomach spirals. The only thing on screen is a plain white background. Nothing else. Just another blank page.
“W-What the hell is this?” I ask.
“It’s gone…”
“Gone? That’s impossible. Scroll down.”
“There’s nothing to scroll,” Charlie says. “I’m telling you, it’s not here.”
“Are you sure you didn’t type it in wrong?” Gillian asks.
He rechecks the address. “This is exactly where we were—”
“It’s not gone,” I insist. “It can’t be gone.” Crossing past my brother, I plow toward the nearest computer and yank the Out of Order sign from the keyboard.
Within seconds, I’m at the home page of Disney.com—Where the Magic Lives Online. “All we gotta do is start over,” I say in full Brooklyn accent.
“Ollie…”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, already halfway there. Gillian says something, but I’m too busy clicking my way through the executive biographies.
“Ollie, it’s gone. There’s no way you’ll find it.”
“It’s right here—just one more page.” As I find the corporate pyramid, a dozen employee photos appear onscreen. For the second time, I make a beeline for Arthur Stoughton, slide the cursor into place, and click. When nothing happens, I click again. And again. The photo doesn’t move. “It’s impossible,” I whisper. Trying to hold it together, I scroll down to the photo of the pale banker. Then I move to the redhead. Once again, nothing happens.
“C’mon… please,”I beg.
Climbing out of his seat, Charlie reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Ollie…”
I gaze at the screen, hunched over in my chair. My elbows rest on my knees. “Why can’t we ever get a break?” I ask, my voice cracking.
It’s a question Charlie can’t answer. He holds on to my shoulder and checks the screen himself. Teetering, he can barely stand. I don’t blame him. Five minutes ago, we had everything that Duckworth had created. Right now—as my brother and I stare blankly at the screen—we’ve got nothing. No bank logo. No hidden account. And worst of all, no proof.
67
Walt Disney World reservations—this is Noah. How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m looking for Information Services,” I say to the over-peppy voice on the other line as I watch Charlie squint in the Florida sun.
“Let me connect you with the switchboard—they’ll transfer you from there,” Noah says in a tone that’s been genetically engineered for customer service.
“That’d be great. Thanks,” I tell him as I give the thumbs-up to Charlie and Gillian. It doesn’t calm either of them down. Crowded around me by the payphone across the street from the library, they’re nervously checking over their shoulders, unconvinced I can pull it off. Still, big companies are big companies. By going through the switchboard, it’s now an internal Disney call. We lost our proof once. I’m not losing it again.
“This is Erinn—how may I help you?” the switchboard operator asks.
“Erinn, I’m looking for the IS group that handles the Intranet for Disney cast members.”
“Let me see if we can find that for you,” she says, speaking in the royal Disney “we.” As she puts me on hold, the song “When You Wish Upon a Star” floats through the receiver.
“Sir, I’m going to put you through to Steven in the Support Center,” the operator eventually announces. “Extension 2538 if you get disconnected.”
I grit my teeth and wait for the music to stop.
“This is Steven,” a deep voice answers. He sounds young; maybe as young as Charlie. Perfect.
“Please tell me I have the right place,”I beg in his ear.
“I-I’m sorry… can