The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [40]
“Howya doin’?” Jeff from Jersey calls out, cutting us off and patting Charlie on the chest.
“There it is,” Charlie sings. “My daily pat on the chest. Awkward to most—revered by a few.”
Laughing, Jeff stops us just a few feet short of the elevator.
“You know I’m right,” Charlie says, enjoying every moment. I’m tempted to drag him along, but it’s clear what my brother’s after. Jersey Jeff may violate just a bit too much of your personal space, but when it comes to office gossip, even I know he’s king bee.
“What’s the story with Mr. Attendance?” Charlie asks, elbowing toward the blond guy at the front door.
Jeff smiles wide. Finally, a chance to strut. “They say he’s doing some security upgrade, but no one believes it. I mean, how stupid do they think we are?”
“Pretty stupid?” Charlie offers.
“Plenty stupid,” Jeff agrees.
“What do you think it is?” I blurt with the patience of… well… with 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 in close, relishing the moment. “I’m betting on a pickpocket. Inside job.”
“What?” Charlie whispers, playing up the outrage. From the strain on my face, he can tell I’m ready to lose it.
“It’s just a theory,” Jeff begins. “But you know how it goes—this place doesn’t change the toilet paper without firing off a memo—but suddenly, they’re redoing all of security without even a heads-up?”
“Maybe they wanted to see our normal routines,” I offer.
“And maybe they didn’t want to scream fire in the crowded movie theater. It’s just like when they caught that woman embezzling from Accounts Payable—they try to keep everything quiet. They’re not dumb. If it goes public, the clients’ll panic and start taking back their cash.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I add, refusing to give in.
“Hey, believe what you want—but there’s gotta be some reason all the bigshots are up on the fourth floor.”
The fourth floor. Charlie stares my way. That’s where my desk is, he glares.
“Excuse me?” Charlie blurts.
Jeff grins. That’s what he was saving. “Oh, yeah,” he says, walking back to his desk. “They’ve been up there all morning…”
I look at Charlie and he looks at me. Fourth floor it is.
* * * *
The instant the elevator doors open, Charlie tears onto the gray carpet and takes a quick recon. From the copy room, to the coffee machine, to the cubicle canyon that fills the center of the room, nothing’s out of place. Mailcarts are rolling, keyboards are clicking, and a few scattered groups are exchanging the first round of morning chitchat. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to know where the action is—up here, there’s only one place where the bigshots can hide. Weaving toward Charlie’s desk as if it’s just another day, we both focus on the office at the far end of the room. The Cage.
There’s no way to tell if they’re in there or if Jeff was blowing his usual smoke. The door’s closed. It’s always closed. But it doesn’t stop us from staring—studying the grain of the wood, the shine of the doorknob, even the tiny black buttons on the punch-code lock. I could easily get us in, but… not today. Not until we—
“Call Shep—see where he is,” I whisper as we slide into Charlie’s cubicle. Charlie sits on one knee in his chair, his head just below the top of the cube. He picks up the phone and dials Shep’s number. I lean in to listen, my eyes still on Mary’s door. Paid to be paranoid, Shep usually picks up on the first ring. Not today. Today, the phone keeps ringing.
“I don’t think he’s—”
“Shhhhh,” I interrupt. Something’s happening.
Charlie jumps from his seat and studies The Cage. The door slowly opens and the room empties. Across the hall, Quincy’s the first to leave, followed by Lapidus. I duck. Charlie stays up. It’s his desk.
“Who else is there?” I whisper, my chin kissing his keyboard.
He keeps his eyes on the door and raises both hands in the air, pretending he’s just stretching. “Behind Lapidus is Mary,” he begins.
“Anyone else?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know ’em…”
I pick my head up just enough