Episode 6.

Across the room I can hear him pacing the rest of the apartment and sniffing the air.

"Mmmmmm… smells like Oliver," he announces. Air freshener and smell of slippers.

"Get out of my bathroom," he yells at her from the bed, where I've already opened my briefcase to find some work papers.

-You never rest? Charlie asks. It's the weekend, you can relax.

"I need to finish this," he replied.

"Listen, I'm sorry I pulled the vanilla joke...

"I need to finish this," I insist.

He knows that tone of voice. He sits at the foot of the bed and lets the silence reign.

Two minutes later, the absence of noise takes effect.

"Sometimes I hate rich people," he complained.

-No, that's not true. -Mocks-. You love it. You've always loved it. The more money they have, the more charming you find them.

"I'm serious," I say. It's as if, once they get some good dough, whoosh! they lose touch with reality. I mean, look at this guy…" I grab the top sheet of the stack of papers and toss it at him. This idiot gets three million dollars misplaced over five years. He Forgets Three Million Dollars Over Five Years! But when we tell him we're about to take them away, that's when he wakes up and he wants them back.

Read the letter signed by a certain Marty Duckworth.

Thank you for his letter [...] please note that I have opened a new account at the following bank in New York [...] please send my principal balance there.

But for Charlie it's just another normal request for a transfer of funds.

-I don't understand.

I point to the small stack of papers in front of him.

"This is an abandoned account. I know it's lost, so I add. Under New York State law, when a customer has no account activity for five years, the money reverts to the state.

"That doesn't make sense, who would be able to give up his own money?"

"Mostly the people who are dead," I say. It is something that happens in all the banks of the country; when someone dies, or falls ill, they sometimes forget to tell their family about their bills. The money simply sits there for years, and if there is no activity on the account, it is eventually classified as inactive.

"So after five years we send the money to the government?"

"That's part of the job I'm doing." When four and a half years have passed, we are required to send a warning letter saying: Your account will be transferred to the state. At that point, anyone still alive usually responds, which is much better for us since the money stays in the bank.

"So that's your responsibility?" Deal with the dead? Man, here I thought my customer service skills were bad.

"Don't laugh, some of those guys are still alive. It's just that they forget where they put the money.

"Like that Mr. Three Million Dollars Duckworth."

"That's our man," I say. The bad thing is that he wants to transfer his money to another bank.

Charlie rereads the text of the faxed letter. He runs his fingers over the blurred signature. Then his eyes return to the top of the page. Something catches his attention. I follow the movement of his fingers. The phone number listed at the top of the fax. He makes that face of someone who smells rotten.

"When did you receive this letter?" Charlie asks.

"Today, sometime, why?"

—And when do we have to transfer that money to the state?

"Monday, I guess that's why you faxed the letter."

"Yeah," Charlie nods, even though I know he's not listening. His face turns completely red. Here we go.

-What's going on?

"Look here," he says, pointing to the return fax number at the top of the letter. Does this number look unfamiliar to you?

I grab the sheet and examine it closely.

"I've never seen him in my life. Why? Do you know him?

-You could say that...

"Charlie, get to the point, tell me what it is...

"It's the Kinko's around the corner from the bank.

I get a nervous laugh.

-What are you talking about?

"I'm telling you. The bank doesn't let us use the fax for personal things, so when Franklin or Royce need to send me sheet music, he goes directly to Kinko's and to that number. I look at the letter again.

"Why would a millionaire, someone who can buy ten thousand fax machines, and can go directly to the bank, send us a fax from a copy shop right around the corner?"

Charlie smiles at me with undeniable excitement.

"Maybe we're not dealing with a millionaire."

-What are you talking about? Do you think Duckworth didn't send this letter?

-You tell me. Have you talked to him lately?

"We don't have the obligation to..." I stop suddenly, I understand where he wants to go. All we do is send a letter to his last known address, and another to his family," I start to say. But if we want to be sure, there's a place that's open late…" I sit up in bed, turn on speakerphone, and start dialing a number.

-Who are you calling?

The first thing we hear is a recorded voice.

"Welcome to Security So...

Without even listening to the rest of the message, I dial one, then zero, then two on the phone. I know the routine. The speaker is filled with canned music.

-The Beatles. Let It Be," Charlie says.

"Shhhh," I hiss.

"Thanks for calling Social Security," a female voice finally says. What I can help?

"Hello, my name is Oliver Caruso and I'm calling from Greene & Greene Bank in New York," I say in that overly pleasant tone of voice that makes Charlie's stomach turn. It's the tone I reserve for customer service, and no matter how much Charlie despises it, deep down he knows it works. He was wondering if he could help us," I continue. We are working on a loan application and wanted to verify the applicant's Social Security number.

"Do you have an identification number?" the woman asks.

I give him the nine-digit number of the bank. Once they have that, we get all the private information. Is the law. God bless America.

As I wait for clearance, unable to sit still, I tug at the seams of my sage green duvet. It doesn't take me long to undo them.

"And the number you want to check?" the woman asks. After reading the list of abandoned accounts, I give him Duckworth's Social Security number. —The name is Marty or Martin. A second passes. Then another.

—Did you say it's for a loan application? the woman asks, puzzled.

"Yes," I say anxiously. Why?

"Because according to the information we have in our files, I have a death date of June twelfth."

-I don't understand.

"I'm just telling you what's in our file, sir. If you're looking for Mr. Martin Duckworth, he died six months ago.