That’s all I need – just a nudge to eat the dandelions. I turn back to the monitor. Push the button, I tell myself. But just as I go to do it, my whole body freezes. My stomach craters and the world starts to blur.

“C’mon!” Charlie shouts.

The words echo, but they’re lost. We’re in final seconds.

“Oliver, push the damn button!”

He says something else, but all I feel is the sharp yank on the back of my shirt. Pulling me out of the way, Charlie leans forward. I watch his hand come thundering down, pounding the mouse with a tight fist. On screen, the Send icon blinks into a negative of itself, then back again. A rectangular box appears three seconds later:

Status: Pending.

“Does that mean we-?”

Status: Approved.

Charlie now realizes what we’re looking at. So do I.

Status: Paid.

That’s it. All sent. The forty-million-dollar e-mail.

We both look at the speakerphone, waiting for a response. All we get is a cruel silence. My mouth hangs open. Charlie finally lets go of my shirt. Our chests rise and fall at the same pace… but for entirely different reasons. Fight and flight. I turn to my brother… my younger brother… but he won’t say a word. And then, there’s a crackle from the phone. A voice.

“Caruso,” Tanner Drew growls in a Southern accent that’s now as unmistakable as a fork in the eye, “if this isn’t a confirmation call, you better start praying to heaven above.”

“I-It is, sir,” I say, fighting back a grin. “Just a confirmation.”

“Fine. Goodbye.” With a slam, it’s over.

I turn around, but it’s too late. My brother’s already gone.

Racing out of The Cage, I scan for Charlie – but as always, he’s too fast. At his cubicle, I grab on to the top edges of his wall, boost myself up, and peek inside. With his feet up on his desk, he’s scribbling in a spiral green notebook, pen cap in mouth and lost in thought.

“So was Tanner happy?” he asks without turning around.

“Yeah, he was thrilled. All he could do was thank me – over and over and over. Finally, I was like, ‘No, you don’t have to include me in the Forbes profile – just having you make the top 400 is all the thanks I need.’”

“That’s great,” Charlie says, finally facing me. “I’m glad it worked out.”

I hate it when he does that. “Go ahead,” I beg. “Just say it.”

He drops his feet to the floor and tosses his notebook on his desk. It lands right next to the Play-Doh, which is only a few inches from his collection of green army men, which is right below the black-and-white bumper sticker on his computer monitor which reads, “I sell out to The Man every day!”

“Listen, I’m sorry for freezing like that,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry about it, bro – happens to everyone.”

God, to have that temperament. “So you’re not disappointed with me?”

“Disappointed? That was your puppy, not mine.”

“I know… it’s just… you’re always teasing me about getting soft…”

“Oh, you’re definitely soft – all this high living and elbow-rubbing – you’re a full-fledged baby’s bottom.”

“Charlie…!”

“But not a soft baby’s bottom – one of those completely hard ones – like a sumo baby or something.”

I can’t help but smile at the joke. It’s not nearly as good as the one three months ago, when he tried to talk in a pirate voice for an entire day (which he did), but it’ll do. “How about coming over tonight and letting me say thank you with some dinner?”

Charlie pauses, studying me. “Only if we don’t take a private car.”

“Will you stop? You know the bank would pay for it after everything we did tonight.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. “You’ve changed, man – I don’t even know you anymore…”

“Fine, fine, forget the car. How about a cab?”

“How ’bout the subway?”

“I’ll pay for the cab.”

“A cab it is.”

Ten minutes later, after a quick stop in my office, we’re up on the seventh floor, waiting for the elevator. “Think they’ll give you a medal?”

“For what?” I ask. “For doing my job?”

“Doing your job? Aw, now you sound like one of those neighborhood heroes who pulled a dozen kittens out of a burning building. Face facts, Superman – you just saved this place from a forty-million-dollar nightmare – and not the good kind either.”

“Yeah, well, just do me a favor and tone down the advertising for a bit. Even if it was for a good reason, we were still stealing other people’s passwords to do it.”

“So?”

“So you know how they are with security around here-”

Before I can finish, the elevator pings and the doors slide open. At this hour, I expect it to be empty, but instead, a thick man with a football-player-sized chest is leaning against the back wall. Shep Graves – the bank’s VP of Security. Dressed in a shirt and tie that could’ve only been bought at the local Big & Tall, Shep knows how to hold his shoulders back so his late-thirties frame looks as young and strong as possible. For his job – protecting our thirteen billion – he has to. Even with the most state-of-the-art technology at his fingertips, there’s still no deterrent like fear – which is why, as we step into the elevator, I decide to end our discussion of Tanner Drew. Indeed, when it comes to Shep, except for some minor chitchat, no one in the bank really talks to him.

“Shep!” Charlie shouts as soon as he sees him. “How’s my favorite manhandler of misappropriation?” Shep puts his hand out and Charlie taps his fingers like they’re piano keys.

“You see what they got going at Madison?” Shep asks with a clumsy boxer’s grin. There’s a trace of a Brooklyn accent, but wherever he’s been, they trained it out of him. “They got a girl who wants to play boys varsity b-ball.”

“Good – that’s the way it should be. When do we see her play?” Charlie asks.

“There’s a scrimmage in two weeks…”

Charlie grins. “You drive; I’ll pay.”

“Scrimmages are free.”

“Fine, I’ll pay for you too,” Charlie says. Noticing my silence, he motions me into the elevator. “Shep, you ever meet my brother, Oliver?”

We both nod our cordial nods. “Nice to see you,” we say simultaneously.

“Shep went to Madison,” Charlie says, proudly referring to our old rival high school in Brooklyn.

“So you also went to Sheepshead Bay?” Shep asks. It’s a simple question, but the tone of his voice – it feels like an interrogation.

I nod and turn around to hit the Door Close button. Then I hit it again. Finally, the doors slide shut.

“So what’re you guys doing here with everyone else gone?” he asks. “Anything interesting?”

“No,” I blurt. “Same as usual.”

Charlie shoots me an annoyed look. “Didja know Shep used to be in the Secret Service?” he asks.

“That’s great,” I say, my eyes focused on the five-course menu that’s posted above the call buttons. The bank has its own private chef just for client visits. It’s the easiest way to impress. Today they served lamb chops and rosemary risotto appetizers. I’m guessing a twenty- to twenty-five-million-dollar client. Lamb chops only come out if you’re over fifteen.

The elevator slows at the fifth floor and Shep elbows himself off the back wall. “This is me,” he announces, heading for the doors. “Enjoy the weekend.”

“You too,” Charlie calls out. Neither of us says another word until the doors shut. “What’s wrong with you?” Charlie lays into me. “When’d you become such a sourpuss?”

“Sourpuss? That’s all you got, Grandma?”

“I’m serious – he’s a nice guy – you didn’t have to blow him off like that.”

“What do you want me to say, Charlie? All the guy ever does is lurk around and act suspicious. Then suddenly, you walk in and he’s Mr. Sunshine.”

“See, there’s where you’re wrong. He’s always Mr. Sunshine – in fact, he’s a rainbow of fruit flavors – but you’re so busy angling with Lapidus and Tanner Drew and all the other bigshots, you forget that the little people know how to talk too.”