The Millionaires Read Free Page B

frame is her username and password: marydamski—3BUG5E.
     Charlie shakes his head, smiling. “Firstborn kid—always loved the most.”
    “How did you…?”
    “She may be the queen of numbers, but she hates computers. One day I came in, she asked me for a good hiding spot, and I told
     her to try the photos.”
    Typical Charlie. Everyone’s pal.
    I turn on Mary’s computer and glance at the clock on the wall: 3:37 P.M. Barely twenty-five minutes to go. Using her password, I go straight to
Funds Disbursement.
There’s Tanner’s transfer queued up on Mary’s screen—waiting for final approval. I type in the code for Tanner’s bank, as
     well as the account number he gave me.
    “
Requested Amount?
” It almost hurts to enter:
$40,000,000.00.
    “That’s a lot of sweet potatoes,” Charlie says.
    I look up at the clock on the wall: 3:45 P.M. Fifteen minutes to spare.
    Behind me, Charlie’s once again jotting something in his notepad. That’s his mantra: G
rab the world; eat a dandelion.
I move the cursor to
Send.
Almost done.
    “Can I ask you a question?” Charlie calls out. Before I can answer, he adds, “How cool would it be if this whole thing was
     a scam?”
    “What?”
    “The whole thing… the phone call, the yelling…” He laughs as he plays it out in his head. “With all the chaos blowing, how
     do you know that was the real Tanner Drew?”
    My body stiffens. “
Excuse me?
”
    “I mean, the guy has a family office—how do you even know what his voice sounds like?”
    I let go of the mouse and try to ignore the chill that licks the hairs on the back of my neck. I turn around to face my brother.
     He’s stopped writing.

2

    W hat’re you saying? You think it’s fake?”
    “I have no idea—but just think how easy that was: Some guy calls up, threatens that he wants his forty million bucks, then
     gives you an account number and says ‘Make it happen.’”
    I stare back at the eleven-digit account number that’s glowing on the screen in front of me. “No,” I insist. “It can’t be.”
    “Can’t be? It’s just like that novel they release every year—the villain sets up the overachiever hero right at the beginning…”
    “This isn’t a stupid book!” I shout. “It’s my life!”
    “It’s both our lives,” he adds. “And all I’m saying is the moment you hit that button, the money could be headed straight
     to some bank in the Bahamas.”
    My eyes stay locked on the glow of the account number. The more I look at it, the brighter it burns.
    “And you know who gets hit if that money disappears…”
    He’s careful the way he says that. As we both know, Greene & Greene isn’t like a normal bank. Citibank, Bank of America—they’re
     big faceless corporations. Not here. Here, we’re still a closely held partnership. For our clients, it keeps us exempt from
     some of the government’s reporting requirements, which helps us maintain our low profile, which keeps our names out of the
     papers, which allows us to pick only the clients we want. Like I said: You don’t open an account at Greene. We open one with
     you.
    In return, the partners get to manage a significant amount of wealth under an incredibly small roof. More important—as I stare
     at Tanner’s forty-million-dollar transfer—each partner is personally liable for
all
of the bank’s holdings. At last count, we had thirteen billion dollars under management. That’s
billion.
With a B. Divided by twelve partners.
    Forget Tanner—all I can think of now is Lapidus. My boss. And the one person who’ll shove the walking papers down my throat
     if I lose one of the bank’s biggest clients. “I’m telling you, there’s no way it’s all a setup,” I insist. “I overheard Lapidus
     talking about the transfer last week. I mean, it’s not like Tanner’s calling up out of nowhere.”
    “Unless, of course, Lapidus is in on it…”
    “Will you stop already? You’re starting to sound like…