Episode 22

I just need a second to think. When the elevator doors open into the lobby, I am completely exhausted. The hurricane hits too fast. Everything is spinning me. However, the options are slim. Follow orders. Anything else would be suspect.

I go to the teller window, find a deposit slip and pretend to fill it out. It's the best way to watch the door, where the blond agent is still checking the identity of the employees.

One by one they enter and give their names. No one doubts or thinks twice. I'm not surprised, the only one who doesn't have a clear conscience is me. But the longer I stay there, the less sense the whole thing makes. Sure, for Charlie and me, three million dollars is a nice cut, but for the people here... it doesn't change anyone's life. And the way Shep asked me if it was me, he wasn't just worried about getting caught…he would lose something too. And now that he's finally stopped thinking about it…maybe…us too.

I scan the always-crowded main lobby, checking to see if anyone is watching. Secretaries, analysts, even the agent in charge... everyone is engrossed in their daily tasks. People come in through the revolving door and the agent checks their names. He directed me towards that same door, deciding that it is the best way to get out of the building...

-He has signed? the blond agent asks me.

"Yeah," he replied as the employees queuing to get in stared at me. Oliver Caruso.

The agent checks the list, then looks up.

-Go ahead.

He stepped forward shoulder first and pushed against the revolving door with all my might. When it gives way I find myself on the icy street, skidding at full speed and turning the corner.

As I run down Park Avenue I search desperately for a newsstand. I should have imagined it. This neighborhood doesn't exactly attract people who buy things on the street. Except for the phone booths, the corners are empty. Ignoring the pain of running in dress shoes, I turn sharply onto 37th Street and keep running toward the end of the block. The pavement makes me feel every step I take. When I reach Madison Avenue, I slam on the brakes and approach an outdoor newsstand.

"Do you have phone cards?" I ask the unshaven guy he's trying to warm up by a small radiator he keeps behind the counter.

He moves like Vanna White in the world of his products.

"And what do you think?"

I look around, searching… "Here," he interrupts, pointing over his shoulder. Next to the lottery tickets rolled up like they were toilet paper.

"I'll take a twenty-five dollar one," I tell him.

"Very good," replies the uncle. He pulls out a card with the Statue of Liberty on it and I hand him two twenties.

As I wait for the change, I rip open the plastic wrap right there. It's true, I can go back to the law firm, but after this morning's experience, I don't want anything that can be linked to yesterday.

—Can I call abroad with this card? -I ask.

"You can call the Queen of France and tell her to shave your

armpits!

-Brilliant. Thank you.

I grab the card and quickly head back to Park Avenue, cross the six-lane street, and stop at a phone booth diagonally across from the bank's entrance. There are more discreet places I can call from, but this way no one at the bank can see me clearly. And more importantly, since I'm just a few blocks from the subway, I have the best possible location to spot Charlie.

I dial the number eight hundred on the back of the card with Lady Liberty and then the secret code. When asked what number I want to dial, I take out my wallet, slide my finger behind the driver's license, and pull out a small piece of paper. I dial the ten-digit number that I have written down on the paper in reverse order. I have Antigua's phone number with me, but if they stop me, that doesn't mean I should make it easy for them.

"Thank you for calling the Royal Bank of Antigua," a recorded female voice says. For automatic account balance press the one. To speak to a personal service employee, press two.

I press two. If someone has stolen our money, I want to know where it has gone.

"This is Miss Tang. What I can help?

Before I can answer, I spot Charlie walking across the street behind a bunch of people.

-Hello...? says the woman.

Hi, just wanted to check my account balance.

I wave my hand to get Charlie's attention, but he doesn't see me.

"Your account number of his?" the woman asks.

"58943563," I tell him. When I memorized the number I didn't think I would have to use it so soon. Directly in front of me, Charlie is alone and practically dancing up the street.

"Who am I talking to?"

"Martin Duckworth," I say. Sunshine Distributors.

"Please wait while I check the account."

As soon as the recorded music starts playing, I cover the earpiece with my hand.

"Charlie!" -scream. He's already driven several yards away, and with the bustle of rush hour traffic between us...

— ¡Charlie! I yell again. But he still doesn't hear me.

Charlie continues toward the center of the block, steps down the curb, and takes a first look at the bank. As always, his reaction is faster than mine. He spots the unmarked cars parked in front of the building and stands still in the middle of the street.

I expect him to run, but he's much smarter than that. Instinctively, he glances around, searching for me. It's like my mother used to say: she never believed in ESP, but the brothers... the brothers were connected.

Charlie knows I'm here.

"Mr. Duckworth...?" asks the woman on the other end of the line.

"Yes... here I am."