Charlie rubs his knuckles against his cheek. He’s far from thrilled. Still, there’s no time to argue.

Turning to Gillian, he studies her penetrating blue eyes and searches for the lie. But like always, it never comes.

“Try it,” I say.

He looks down at the keyboard, types in the word Gillian, and goes to press Enter. But for some reason – just as his finger touches the key – he stops.

“C’mon, Charlie.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice shaking. “Maybe we should-”

“Just hit it,” I demand, reaching over and pounding the key myself.

All three of us squint at the screen, waiting for the computer’s reply.

There’s a long, vacant pause. In the distance, I hear someone flipping pages through a magazine. The air-conditioning hums… the porn-kid snickers… and to all of our surprise, the laser printer softly purrs.

“I don’t believe it,” Charlie mutters as the first page rolls off. “We’re finally getting a break.”

With a wild grin across his face, he leaps out of his seat, dives forward, and grabs the top sheet from the printer. But as he flips it over, the grin suddenly goes limp. His shoulders fall. I look at the page. It’s completely blank.

We spin back toward the screen just in time to see Duckworth’s account slowly fade to black. We just jumped on the land mines.

“Charlie…!”

“I’m on it!” he says. Clutching the mouse, he clicks every button in sight. There’s no way to stop it. It’s almost gone.

“Get the web address…!” I shout.

Our eyes lock on the address at the top of the screen. I take the first half; he takes the second.

Gillian’s lost. “What’re you doing?”

“Not now,” I snap, struggling to memorize.

The screen blinks off and a new image clicks into place. It’s the Seven Dwarfs, and a red button marked Company Directory. Back at the beginning. But at least we’re still in the internal employee site.

“Charlie, go to…”

Before I can finish, he’s already there, anxiously clicking the button for Directory. Hundreds of company photos appear on screen. Like before, he scrolls down to the Imagineering section. Like before, he finds the black man with the cleft chin. And like before, he clicks on his face. But this time, nothing happens. The photo doesn’t even move. “Ollie-”

“Maybe you have to go through all four,” Gillian suggests.

“Hit it again,” I say.

“I did. It’s not going anywhere,” he says in full panic.

“Put in the address.”

Frantically passing me the keyboard, Charlie ducks out of the way as I type in the first half of the memorized address. Then he does his. The instant he hits Return, the screen hiccups toward a brand-new page.

“It’s fine. We’re still fine…” he says as we wait for the image to load. And for a second, it looks like he’s right. But as the page finally appears, my stomach spirals. The only thing on screen is a plain white background. Nothing else. Just another blank page.

“W-What the hell is this?” I ask.

“It’s gone…”

“Gone? That’s impossible. Scroll down.”

“There’s nothing to scroll,” Charlie says. “I’m telling you, it’s not here.”

“Are you sure you didn’t type it in wrong?” Gillian asks.

He rechecks the address. “This is exactly where we were-”

“It’s not gone,” I insist. “It can’t be gone.” Crossing past my brother, I plow toward the nearest computer and yank the Out of Order sign from the keyboard.

Within seconds, I’m at the home page of Disney.com – Where the Magic Lives Online. “All we gotta do is start over,” I say in full Brooklyn accent.

“Ollie…”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, already halfway there. Gillian says something, but I’m too busy clicking my way through the executive biographies.

“Ollie, it’s gone. There’s no way you’ll find it.”

“It’s right here – just one more page.” As I find the corporate pyramid, a dozen employee photos appear onscreen. For the second time, I make a beeline for Arthur Stoughton, slide the cursor into place, and click. When nothing happens, I click again. And again. The photo doesn’t move. “It’s impossible,” I whisper. Trying to hold it together, I scroll down to the photo of the pale banker. Then I move to the redhead. Once again, nothing happens.

“C’mon… please,” I beg.

Climbing out of his seat, Charlie reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Ollie…”

I gaze at the screen, hunched over in my chair. My elbows rest on my knees. “Why can’t we ever get a break?” I ask, my voice cracking.

It’s a question Charlie can’t answer. He holds on to my shoulder and checks the screen himself. Teetering, he can barely stand. I don’t blame him. Five minutes ago, we had everything that Duckworth had created. Right now – as my brother and I stare blankly at the screen – we’ve got nothing. No bank logo. No hidden account. And worst of all, no proof.

“Walt Disney World reservations – this is Noah. How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Information Services,” I say to the over-peppy voice on the other line as I watch Charlie squint in the Florida sun.

“Let me connect you with the switchboard – they’ll transfer you from there,” Noah says in a tone that’s been genetically engineered for customer service.

“That’d be great. Thanks,” I tell him as I give the thumbs-up to Charlie and Gillian. It doesn’t calm either of them down. Crowded around me by the payphone across the street from the library, they’re nervously checking over their shoulders, unconvinced I can pull it off. Still, big companies are big companies. By going through the switchboard, it’s now an internal Disney call. We lost our proof once. I’m not losing it again.

“This is Erinn – how may I help you?” the switchboard operator asks.

“Erinn, I’m looking for the IS group that handles the Intranet for Disney cast members.”

“Let me see if we can find that for you,” she says, speaking in the royal Disney “we.” As she puts me on hold, the song “When You Wish Upon a Star” floats through the receiver.

“Sir, I’m going to put you through to Steven in the Support Center,” the operator eventually announces. “Extension 2538 if you get disconnected.”

I grit my teeth and wait for the music to stop.

“This is Steven,” a deep voice answers. He sounds young; maybe as young as Charlie. Perfect.

“Please tell me I have the right place,” I beg in his ear.

“I-I’m sorry… can I help you?” he asks.

“Is this Matthew?” I say, pouring on the panic.

“No, it’s Steven.”

“Steven who?”

“Steven Balizer. In the Support Center.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say, ramming forward. “Matthew said it’d be on there, but when I went to pull it off, the whole presentation was gone.”

“What presentation?”

“I’m dead…” I tell him. “They’ll eat me as an appetizer…”

“What presentation?” he repeats, already swinging to my aid. It’s Disney training. He can’t help himself.

“You don’t understand,” I say. “I’ve got fifteen people sitting in a conference room, all of them waiting for their first look at our new online subscription service. But when I go to download it off our Intranet, the whole thing is gone. Zip. Nothing. It’s not there! Now everyone’s looking at me – the lawyers, the creatives, the finance boys…”

“Listen, you have to calm down-”

“… and Arthur Stoughton, who’s sitting red-faced at the head of the table.” All it takes is a single drop of the boss’s name. That one I learned from Tanner Drew.

“You said it was on the Intranet?” Steven asks anxiously. “Any idea where?”

I read off the exact address where Duckworth’s account was stored. I can hear young Steven jackhammering away at his keyboard. It takes an underling to know one – we’re all in this together. “I’m sorry,” he eventually stammers. “It’s no longer there.”