The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [179]
“And a-one, and a-two… right-foot-first-now…”
EPILOGUE
With a twist of the Victorian bronze oval doorknob, Henry Lapidus stepped into his office, shut the door behind himself, and headed straight for his desk. Picking up the phone, he glanced at the Red Sheet in his in-box, but didn’t bother to take it out. He learned that lesson years ago—like a magician protecting his tricks, you don’t put every number on the sheet—especially the ones you know by heart.
As he dialed and waited for someone to pick up, he stared down at the letter of recommendation he’d written for Oliver, which he was still gripping in his left hand.
“Hi, I’d like to speak with Mr. Ryan Isaac, please. This is one of his clients from the private group,” he explained. Lapidus couldn’t help but be amused. Sure, his priority had always been to get the money back. Indeed, he was the one who personally called the bank in Antigua to secure the return of every last cent. Without a doubt, it was the right thing to do.
But that didn’t mean he had to tell the Antigua bank about the theft, or Duckworth’s worm, or the fact that none of the money was real.
“Mr. Isaac, it’s me,” Lapidus said the instant Isaac said hello. “I just wanted to make sure everything got there okay.”
“Absolutely,” Isaac answered. “It came this morning.”
Three weeks ago, the bank in Antigua was surprised to receive a three-hundred-and-thirteen-million-dollar deposit. For four days, it was sitting on one of the largest individual accounts in the world. For four days, it was flushed with more cash than it had ever seen. And for four days, in Lapidus’s opinion, Oliver had done at least one thing right. It was one of the first lessons Lapidus taught: Never open a bank account unless you’re getting interest.
Lapidus nodded to himself, enjoying the moment.
Four days of interest. On three hundred and thirteen million.
“One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars,” Isaac clarified on the other line. “Should I put it in your regular account?”
“That’d be perfect,” Lapidus replied as he swiveled around in his seat and stared out the window at the New York City skyline.
Hanging up the receiver, Lapidus knew that once the principal was returned, the government would be far too preoccupied with tracking the worm and figuring out how it worked. And now that they were knee-deep in that, well… thanks to a well-placed payment to the Antiguan bank manager, all records of the interest were long gone. Like they never existed.
His eyes still on the skyline, Lapidus crumpled up Oliver’s recommendation letter and tossed it in the eighteenth-century Chinese porcelain vase that he used as a garbage can. One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his leather chair. Not a bad day’s work.
As he took in the shadows of the late afternoon, a ray of sun gleamed off the Kamakura samurai helmet that was hanging on the wall behind him. Lapidus didn’t notice. If he did, he would’ve seen the twinkle of light just under the helmet’s forehead, where a silver object barely peeked out. To the untrained eye, it looked like a nail holding the mask in place… or the tip of a fine silver pen. But nothing more.
Except for the occasional glare of sunlight, the tiny videocamera was hidden perfectly. And wherever Joey was, she was smiling.
* * * *