He motions Vanna-White-style at his world of wares. “Whattya you think?”

I look around, searching for-

“Here,” he interrupts, pointing over his own shoulder. Next to the toilet-paper-rolls of scratch-off lottery tickets.

“I’ll take the twenty-five-dollar one,” I tell him.

“Beautiful,” he says. He pulls the Statue of Liberty one from the clipboard, and I toss him two twenties.

Waiting for my change, I rip off the plastic wrapper right there. Sure, I could go back to the law firm, but after this morning, I don’t want anything tracing me to yesterday. “Will these work to call out of the country?” I ask.

“You can call the Queen of France and tell her to shave her pits!”

“Great. Thanks.” Gripping the card in a tight fist, I dart back toward Park Avenue, cross the six-lane street, and stop at a payphone diagonally down the block from the entrance to the bank. There’re more inconspicuous places to call from, but this way, no one in the bank has a clear view of me. More important, since I’m only a few blocks from the subway, I have the best possible location for spotting Charlie.

I dial the 800 number on the back of the Lady Liberty calling card and punch in the PIN code. When it asks for the number I want to dial, I pull out my wallet, slide my finger behind my driver’s license, and pull out a tiny scrap of paper. I punch in the ten-digit number that I’d written on the paper in reverse order. I may carry the Antigua phone number on me, but if I get caught, it doesn’t mean I have to make it easy.

“Thank you for calling Royal Bank of Antigua,” a digital female voice answers. “For automated account balance and information, press one. To speak to a personal service representative, press two.”

I press two. If someone stole it from us, I want to know where it went.

“This is Ms. Tang. How can I help you today?”

Before I can answer, I spot Charlie trailing a pack of people across the street.

“Hello…?” the woman says.

“Hi, I just wanted to check the balance of my account.” I wave to get Charlie’s attention, but he doesn’t see me.

“And your account number?” the woman asks.

“ 58943563,” I tell her. When I memorized it, I didn’t think I’d be using it this soon. Directly across, Charlie’s by himself, but he’s practically dancing up the street.

“And who am I speaking with?”

“Martin Duckworth,” I say. “It’s under Sunshine Distributors.”

“Please hold while I check the account.”

The moment the Muzak starts, I cover the receiver. “Charlie!” I scream. He’s already too far past – and with the buzz of rush hour traffic between us… “Charlie!” I shout again. He still doesn’t hear.

Making his way up the block, Charlie steps off the curb and gets his first good look at the bank. As always, his reaction is faster than mine. He spots the unmarked cars and freezes, right there in the middle of the street.

I expect him to run, but he’s smarter than that. Instinctively, he glances around, searching for me. It’s like my mom used to say: she never believed in ESP – but siblings… siblings were connected. Charlie knows I’m here.

“Mr. Duckworth…?” the woman asks on the other line.

“Y-Yeah… right here.” I wave my hand in the air, and this time, Charlie sees it. He looks my way, studying my body language. He wants to know if it’s real, or if I’m just playing Chicken Little. Refusing to wait for the light, he hops into traffic, dodging and weaving through the onslaught of cars. A yellow cab lets loose with its horn, but Charlie shrugs it off, unbothered. Seeing me hit full panic means he doesn’t have to.

“Mr. Duckworth, I’m going to need the password on the account,” the woman from the bank says.

“FroYo,” I say to her.

“What happened?” Charlie asks the instant he hits the curb.

I ignore him, waiting for the bank teller.

“Tell me!” he challenges.

“Now what can I help you with today?” the woman on the other line finally says.

“I’d like the balance, as well as the most recent activity on the account,” I reply.

Right there, Charlie lets out a belly laugh – the same patented little-brother taunt from when he was nine. “I knew it!” he shouts. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself!”

I put a finger in front of my lips to quiet him down, but I don’t have a prayer.

“You couldn’t even hold out twenty-four hours, could you?” he asks, leaning in closer to the booth. “What’d it take? The cars outside? The federal plates? Have you even spoken to anyone or did you just see the cars and wet your pa-?”

“Can you please shut up! I’m not a moron!”

“Mr. Duckworth…?” the original woman returns.

“Y-Yeah… I’m here,” I say, turning back to the phone. “I’m right here.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. I was hoping to get a supervisor on the line to-”

“Just tell me the balance. Is it zero?”

“Zero?” she says with a laugh. “No… not at all.”

I let out a nervous laugh of my own. “Are you sure?”

“Our system’s not perfect, sir, but this one’s pretty clear. According to our records, there’s only one transaction on the whole account – a wire transfer that was received yesterday at 12:21 P.M.”

“So the money’s still there?”

“Absolutely,” the woman says. “I’m looking at it right now. A single transfer via wire – for a total of three hundred and thirteen million dollars.”

“We’ve got what!?” Charlie shouts.

“I don’t believe this,” I stammer, my twitching hand still resting on the hung-up receiver. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

“It means we’re rich,” he shoots back. “And I’m not talkin’ filthy rich, or even extremely rich – I’m talkin’ obscenely, grotesquely, do-re-mi-fa-so-much-money-we-got-a-gross-domestic-product rich. Or as my barber said when I tipped him five bucks once: ‘Dat’s some major clam action.’”

“We’re dead,” I blurt, my full body weight collapsing against the frame of the payphone. That’s what I get – all from a stupid moment of anger. “There’s no way to explai-”

“We’ll tell ’em we won it in the Super Bowl pool. They might believe that.”

“I’m serious, Charlie. This isn’t just three million – it’s…”

“Three hundred and thirteen million. I heard you the first three times.” He counts on his fingers, from pinky to pointer finger: “Three hundred and ten… three hundred and eleven… three hundred and twelve… three hundred and thirteen… Holy guacamole, I feel like the little old guy with the mustache in Monopoly – you know, with the monocle and the bald h-”

“How can you make jokes?”

“What else am I gonna do? Lean up against a payphone and cower for the rest of my life?”

Without a word, I stand up straight.

“Feels pretty good now, don’t it?” he asks.

“It’s not a game, Charlie. They’ll kill us for this…”

“Only if they find it – and last I checked… all those fake companies – this bad boy’s foolproof.”

“Foolproof? Are you nuts? We’re not-” I cut myself off and lower my voice. There’re still plenty of people on the street. “We’re way beyond petty cash,” I whisper. “So stop with the Butch Cassidy bravado and-”

“No. Not a chance,” he interrupts. “It’s time to kiss a little reality, Ollie – this isn’t another thing to run from – this is Candyland. All that money; all of it ours. What else do you want? No one knows how to find it… no one suspects it’s us – if it was good before, it’s doubly better now. Three hundred and thirteen times better. For once in our lives we can actually sit back and kick up our-”

“Dammit, what’s wrong with you!?” I shout, flying from the booth and grabbing him by the collar of his coat. “Have you even been paying attention? You heard Shep – the only way it works is if no one knows it’s gone. Three million fits in our pockets… but three hundred and thirteen… do you realize what they’ll do to get that back?” I’m trying my best to whisper, but people are starting to stare. Looking around, I abruptly let go. “That’s it,” I mutter. “I’m done.”