Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

Copyright 2002

Song lyric from Absolutely Sweet Marie 1966, renewed 1994 by Bob Dylan

I know where Im going. And I know who I want to be. Thats why I took this job in the first place and why, four years later, I still put up with the clients. And their demands. And their wads of money. Most of the time, they just want to keep a low profile, which is actually the banks specialty. Other times, they want a little personal touch. My phone rings and I tee up the charm. This is Oliver, I answer. How can I help you?

Where the hells your boss!? a Southern chainsaw of a voice explodes in my ear.

E-Excuse me?

Dont piss on this, Caruso! I want my money!

Its not until he says the word money, that I recognize the accent. Tanner Drew, the largest developer of luxury skyscrapers in New York City and chief patriarch of the Drew Family Office. In the world of high-net-worth individuals, a family office is as high as you get. Rockefeller. Rothschild. Gates and Soros. Once hired, the family office supervises all the advisors, lawyers, and bankers who manage the familys money. Paid professionals to maximize every last penny. You dont speak to the family anymore you speak to the office. So if the head of the clan is calling me directly Im about to get some teeth pulled.

Has the transfer not posted yet, Mr. Drew?

Youre damn right it hasnt posted yet, smartass! Now what the hell you gonna do to make that right? Your boss promised me itd be here by two oclock! Two oclock! he screams.

Im sorry, sir, but Mr. Lapidus is-

I dont give a raccoons ass where he is the guy at Forbes gave me a deadline of today; I gave your boss that deadline, and now Im giving you that deadline! What the hell else we need to discuss!?

My mouth goes dry. Every year, the Forbes 400 lists the wealthiest 400 individuals in the United States. Last year, Tanner Drew was number 403. He wasnt pleased. So this year, hes determined to bump himself up a notch. Or three. Too bad for me, the only thing standing in his way is a forty-million-dollar transfer to his personal account that we apparently still havent released.

Hold on one second, sir, I

Dont you dare put me on h-

I push the hold button and pray for rain. A quick extension later, Im waiting to hear the voice of Judy Sklar, Lapiduss secretary. All I get is voicemail. With the boss at a partners retreat for the rest of the day, shes got no reason to stick around. I hang up and start again. This time, I go straight to DEFCON One. Henry Lapiduss cell phone. On the first ring, no one answers. Same on the second. By the third, all I can do is stare at the blinking red light on my phone. Tanner Drew is still waiting.

I click back to him and grab my own cell phone.

Im just waiting for a callback from Mr. Lapidus, I explain.

Son, if you ever put me on hold again

Whatever hes saying, Im not listening. Instead, my fingers snake across my cell, rapidly dialing Lapiduss pager. The moment I hear the beep, I enter my extension and add the number 1822. The ultimate emergency: 911 doubled.

nother one of your sorry-ass excuses all I want to hear is that the transfers complete!

I understand, sir.

No, son. You dont.

Cmon, I beg, staring at my cell. Ring!

What time does your last transfer go out? he barks.

Actually, we officially close at three The clock on my wall says a quarter past three.

but sometimes we can extend it until four. When he doesnt respond, I add, Now whats the account number and bank its supposed to go to?

He quickly relays the details, which I scribble on a nearby Post-It. Eventually, he adds, Oliver Caruso, right? Thats your name? His voice is soft and smooth.

Y-Yes, sir.

Okay, Mr. Caruso. Thats all I need to know. With that, he hangs up. I look at my silent cell phone. Still nothing.

Within three minutes, Ive paged and dialed every other partner I have access to. No one answers. This is a hundred-and-twenty-five-million-dollar account. I pull off my coat and claw at my tie. With a quick scan of our networks Rolodex, I find the number for the University Club home of the partners retreat. By the time I start dialing, I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.

Youve reached the University Club, a female voice answers.

Hi, Im looking for Henry Lapi-

If youd like to speak to the club operator or to a guest room, please press zero, the recorded voice continues.

I pound zero and another mechanized voice says, All operators are busy please continue to hold. Grabbing my cell, I dial frantically, looking for anyone with authority. Baraff Bernstein Mary in Accounting Gone, Gone, and Gone.

I hate Fridays close to Christmas. Where the hell is everyone?

In my ear, the mechanized female voice repeats, All operators are busy please continue to hold.

Im tempted to hit the panic button and call Shep, whos in charge of the banks security, but no too much of a stickler without the right signatures, hell never let me get away with it. So if I cant find someone with transfer authority, I need to at least find someone in the back office who can-

I got it.

My brother.

With my receiver in one ear and my cell in the other, I shut my eyes and listen as his phone rings. Once twice

Im Charlie, he answers.

Youre still here!?

Nope I left an hour ago, he deadpans. Figment of your imagination.

I ignore the joke. Do you still know where Mary in Accounting keeps her username and password?

I think so why?

Dont go anywhere! Ill be right down.

My fingers dance like lightning across my phones keypad, forwarding my line to my cell phone just in case the University Club picks up.

Dashing out of my office, I make a sharp right and head straight for the private elevator at the end of the dark mahogany-paneled hallway. I dont care if its just for clients. I enter Lapiduss six-digit code at the keypad above the call buttons, and the doors slide open. Shep in Security wouldnt like that one either.

The instant I step inside, I spin around and pound the Door Close button. Last week, I read in some business book that Door Close buttons in elevators are almost always disconnected theyre just there to make hurried people feel like theyre in control. Wiping a forehead full of sweat back through my dark brown hair, I push the button anyway. Then I push it again. Three floors to go.

Well, well, well, Charlie announces, looking up from a stack of papers with his forever-boyish grin. Lowering his chin, he peers over his vintage horn-rimmed glasses. Hes been wearing the glasses for years way before they were fashionable. The same holds true for his white shirt and rumpled slacks. Both are hand-me-downs from my closet, but somehow, the way they hang on his lean frame, they look perfect. Downtown stylish; never preppy. Look whos slumming! he cheers. Hey, wheres your