Episode 2.

Sitting in Charlie's chair, I enter Lapidus' username and password. He may not be high on the totem pole, but I'm still an associate. The youngest associate... and the only one directly assigned to Lapidus. In a place with only twelve members, that circumstance takes me much further than most. Lapidus, like me, didn't grow up with a wad of cash in his pocket. But the right job, with the right boss, landed him in the right Business School, which launched him to the top in private elevators. He is now prepared to return the favor. As he told me on day one, simple plans work best. I help you; he helps me. Like Charlie, we all have our way of paying off debt.

Rocking in my chair, I wait for the computer to do its job. Behind me, Charlie is perched on the arm of the chair, leaning against my back and the edge of my shoulder for balance. When I tilt my head to the right I can see our warped images in the curved palilalia of the computer. If I take a quick look, we both look like kids. But at that moment, Tanner Drew's corporate account appears on the screen... and everything else disappears.

Charlie's gaze falls directly on the balance: $1,260,231,64.27.

"Peanut butter sandwiches!" My balance is so low I don't order sodas with lunch anymore, and this guy thinks he has a right to complain?

It's hard to argue; even for a bank like ours, that's a lot of money. Of course, saying that Greene & Greene is just a bank is like saying that Einstein was good at math.

Greene &. Greene is what is known as a "private bank." That's our main service: privacy... which is why we don't accept just anyone's money. In fact, when it comes to customers, they don't choose us; we choose them. And, like most banks, we require a minimum deposit. The difference is that our minimum is two million dollars. And that's just to open the account. If you have five million dollars, we say, That's good, that's a good start. At fifteen million, "We'd like to talk." And at seventy-five million and above, we fill up the tank on the private jet and go see you in person, Mr. Drew, sir, yes, sir.

"I knew it," I say, pointing to the screen. Lapidus didn't even write it down in the system. He surely he completely forgot about the whole thing.

Using another of Lapidus's passwords, he quickly typed in the first part of the request.

"Are you sure you can safely use his password like that?"

-Don't worry. It's all under control.

"Maybe we should call Security and Shep..."

"I don't want to call Shep!" - I insist, I know the result.

Charlie shakes his head and looks back at the screen. Under "Current Movements" he discovers three check disbursements, all made out to Kelli Turnley.

"I bet she's her lover," she says.

-Why? -I ask-. Why does she have a name like Kelli?

"You'd better believe it, Watson." Jenni, Candi, Brandi—it's like a family pass to the Playboy mansion—show the i and you're free to pass.

"First of all, you are wrong. Second, without exaggeration, it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. And in third...

"What was the name of Dad's first mistress?" Let me think...she was...Randi?

With a quick movement, I push back the chair, push Charlie by the arm, and storm out of her cubicle.

"Don't you want to hear the story?" He yells behind me.

As I walk down the corridor I focus on my cell phone, still listening to the recorded greetings from the University Club. Furious, I hang up and call again. This time an authentic voice answers me.

—University Club, how can I help you?

—I'm trying to locate Henry Lapidus, he's in a meeting in one of his conference rooms.

"Please don't hang up, sir, and I'll..."

"Don't put the call through!" I need to talk to him now.

"I'm just the operator, sir, all I can do is put your call there."

There is a click and another noise.

—You are served by the University Club Conference Center. All our operators are busy... please don't hang up.

Glued to the phone, I hurry through the corridor and stop before a metal door without any special markings. The Cage, as it is known throughout the bank, is one of the few private offices on the floor and also home to our entire money transfer system. Cash, checks, electronic transfers... it all starts here.

Naturally, above the knob is a coded lock. Lapidus's code gets me through. The Director General enters everywhere.

Ten steps behind me, Charlie walks into the office, which seats six people. The rectangular room is situated along the wall on the fourth floor, but its interior is similar to that of cubicles: fluorescent lights, modular desks, gray carpet. The only visible difference is the industrial size machines that are on all the tables. The Accounting version of Play-Doh.

"Why do you always have to blow up like that?" Charlie asks when he reaches my side.

"Can we please not talk about it here?"

I just want you to tell me why...

"Because I work here!" he yelled, turning me around. And you work here too; and our personal problems should stay at home! Ok? Charlie holds a pen and his small notepad in her hands. The student of life. And don't start jotting down this conversation," I warn him. I don't need all this in one of your songs.

Charles looks at the ground, wondering if he's worth arguing.

"As you wish," he says, putting the notepad down. He never fights for his art.

"Thanks," I say, walking into the office. But as I approach Mary's desk, I hear her scribbling behind me. What are you doing?

"I'm sorry," he says, laughing, jotting down the last few words on his notepad. Alright, I'm done.

"What have you written?" "Nothing, it's just...

"What have you written?" He shows me the sheet.

"'I don't need all this in one of your songs,'" he says. What do you think as a title for an album?

I don't answer and go back to Mary's desk.

"Please, can you show me where you keep your password?"

Charlie walks over to the cleanest, tidiest desk in the room, pretends to dust Mary's chair, sits down, and reaches out a hand to the three plastic frames next to the computer. There's a twelve-year-old boy with a small, oval football, a nine-year-old boy wearing a baseball uniform, and a six-year-old girl posing with a soccer ball. Charlie purposefully picks up the picture of the football player and turns it over. Below the bottom of the frame are Mary's username and password: marydamski: 3BUG5E. Charlie shakes his head and smiles.

—The firstborn. The most beloved son.

-How did you know...?

"Mary may be the queen of numbers, but she hates computers. One day I came to see her, he asked me what would be a good hiding place and I told him to try with the photos of her.

Typical Charlie. Everyone's friend.

I turn on Mary's computer and glance at the clock on the wall: 3:37. Just a little over twenty minutes. I enter his password and go directly to the Disbursement of Funds file. Tanner's transfer is in the queue on Mary's screen awaiting final approval. I punch in Tanner's bank code and add the account number she gave me a few minutes ago.

-Requested amount?

It almost hurts to write: forty million dollars.

"That's a lot of sweet potatoes," Charlie says.

I look at my watch again: 3:45 p.m. We still have fifteen minutes left.

Behind me, Charlie jots down something on his notepad again. It's his mantra: he Grabs the world; eat a dandelion I move the cursor to "Send." I'm almost done.

-Can I ask you a question? Charlie tells me. Before he can answer, he adds. What would happen if all this was nothing more than a setup?

-Then?

"The whole thing…the phone call, the yelling…" Charlie laughs as he finishes the argument in his head. With all the chaos, how do you know it was the real Tanner Drew?

I feel the whole body tense up.

-Forgives?

"I mean, the guy has a family office, how do you know what voice Drew has?"

I put the mouse down and try to ignore the shiver running through the hairs on the back of my neck. I turn to my brother. He has stopped writing.