The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [174]
The meeting itself takes a total of six minutes. Four years to build this life. Six minutes to scrap it. The lawyer asks me to wait here while they gather my things.
As they leave, the door slams behind them, and I look out through the glass window into the lobby. Throughout the room, two dozen employees once again look away. The bandaged cut on my stomach stings every time I shift my weight. And my once broken nose stings every time I breathe. But this stings worse.
Twenty-five minutes later, nothing’s changed. The zoo’s still open. I throw a nod to Jersey Jeff; he pretends not to see it. Mary comes out of the elevator and refuses to acknowledge I’m there. For four years, I killed myself for the partners, made money for the clients, and immersed myself in every nitpicky detail the bank had to offer. But in all those years, I never made a single friend.
Trying not to think about it, I stare down at the inlaid mahogany conference table. It’s the same table that I sat at to close my first client, which got Lapidus’s attention and moved me from the first floor up to the seventh. Today, as my eyes trace the pattern of the antique mahogany, I angle my head and spot a nasty scratch that runs like a scar across the center of the table. I never noticed it before. But I bet it was always there.
Eventually exhausted by the waiting game, I stand up to leave. Yet just as I push my chair out, there’s a loud knock against the conference room door.
“Come in,” I say, though the door’s already swinging open.
As it slams into the wall, I study the familiar figure who’s carrying two cardboard banker’s boxes. Unsure of what to say, Joey hesitantly steps into the room and lowers both boxes to the table. One’s filled with management books and my cheap imitation banker’s lamp, the other’s filled with Play-Doh and the rest of Charlie’s toys.
“They… uh… they asked me to bring you these,” she offers, her voice unusually quiet.
I nod and flip through the contents of the box. The sterling silver pen set I bought with my first bonus. And the leather blotter I bought when I got my first raise. Naturally, the Art Deco clock I got from Lapidus isn’t there. I’m guessing he pulled it off the wall last week.
“I’m sorry they wouldn’t let you up there,” Joey explains. “It’s just that after everything that happened, the insurance company asked me to—”
“No, I understand,” I interrupt. “Everyone has to do their job.”
“Yeah… well… some jobs are easier than others.”
“No doubt about that.” I look her in the face. Unlike everyone else, she doesn’t turn away. Instead, she stays with me… studying… absorbing my reaction. It’s the first time I’ve seen her up close—and without a gun in her hand. “Listen, Ms. Lemont…”
“Joey.”
“Joey,” I repeat. “I just… I just wanted to say thanks for what you did. For me… and for Charlie.”
“Oliver, all I did was tell the truth.”
“I’m not talking about the testimony—I meant with Shep. With saving us…”
“I almost got you killed. That bluff about being on the phone with Lapidus…”
“… was the only way to find out what was really going on. Besides, if you hadn’t come in when you did—and then with Charlie’s medication—”
“Like you said, we all do our jobs,” she adds with a grin. It’s the only smile I’ve seen all day. And means more than she’ll ever know.
“So what happens now?” I ask her. “Were you able to get all the money back?”
“Money? What money?” Joey asks with a laugh. “That’s not money anymore—it’s just an assortment of ones and zeros assigned to a computer.”
“But the account in Antigua…”
“Once you gave us the location, they sent every penny straight back—but you saw how Duckworth designed the worm. The three million… the three hundred million… none of it was real. Sure, the computers thought it was real, and yes, it fooled every bank you sent it to—that was the genius of the program—but that doesn’t mean the money was actually there. Say hello to the cold hard cash of the future. It may look like a dollar, and act like a dollar, but that