As the words leave Charlie’s lips, I feel them tear at my belly. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Taking care of mom has always been top priority. For both of us. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to follow him over the cliff. “I don’t need to be a thief.”

“Who said anything about thieves?” Charlie challenges. “Thieves steal from people. This money doesn’t belong to anyone. Duckworth’s dead – you tried to contact his family – he’s got no one. All we’d be taking is some cash that would never be missed. And even if something goes wrong, we can just blame it on whoever faxed us that letter. I mean, it’s not like he’s in any position to tell on us.”

“Oh, okay, Lenin, so when we’re done redistributing the wealth, we’ll just take this show on the road and go on the run for the rest of our lives. That’s clearly the best way to help mom – just abandon her and-”

“We don’t have to abandon anyone,” he insists. “We’ll do exactly what this guy’s doing – transfer the money out, and then we don’t touch it until we know it’s safe. After seven years, the FBI closes the investigation.”

“Says who?”

“I read this article in the Village Voice-”

“The Village Voice?”

“No screwing around – all it takes is seven years – then we’re just another unsolved file. Case closed.”

“And then what do we do? Retire on the beach, open a bar, and write sappy little songs for the rest of our lives?”

“It’s a lot better than wasting another four years kissing corporate ass and going nowhere.”

I hop off the bed and he knows he’s overstepped the boundaries. “You know business school is the best way out, and you know I can’t go there directly after college,” I insist, shoving a finger in his face. “You have to work a couple years first.”

“Fine. A couple years – that’s two. You’re finishing four.”

Taking a breath, I try not to lose it. “Charlie, I’m applying to the top schools in the country. Harvard, Penn, Chicago, Columbia. That’s where I want to go – anything else is second best and doesn’t help anyone, including mom.”

“And who decided that, you or Lapidus?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How many opportunities did you give up because Lapidus put his grand plan about B-school in your head? How many companies have you refused offers from? You know it as well as I do – you should’ve left the bank years ago. Instead, it’s been back-to-back B-school rejection letters. And you think this year’s gonna be any different? Broaden your horizons a little. I mean, it’s just like dating Beth – sure, you make a nice picture, but that’s all it is – a nice picture, Oliver – a Sears portrait of how you think things should be. You’re one of the most brilliant, dynamic people I know. Stop being so scared of living.”

“Then stop judging me!” I explode.

“I’m not judging you…”

“No, you’re just asking me to steal three million dollars – that’ll solve all my problems!”

“I’m not saying it’s the answer to every prayer, but it’s the only way we’re ever gonna dig out of this.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong!” I shout. “You may be thrilled nursing paper cuts in the file room, but I’ve got my eyes on something bigger. Trust me on this one, Charlie – once I’m done with business school, mom’s never gonna see another bill again. You can tease and joke all you want – sure, the path is safe, and it may be simple – but all that matters right now is that it works. And when the payoff hits, that three million dollars is gonna look like bus fare from Brooklyn.”

“And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you something, buddy-boy – you may think you’re all private jet going straight to the summit, but from my side of the river, all you’re doing is standing in line like the rest of the lower-level drones you used to hate. A drone like dad.”

I want to smack him across the face, but I’ve been there before. I don’t need another fistfight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I growl.

“Really? So you think that even though you’re one of the bank’s top associates, and even though you’ve single-handedly brought in over twelve million dollars’ worth of new accounts for Lapidus just by scouring the NYU alumni magazine, and even though almost every partner in the firm went to one of the four business schools you’re applying to, it’s still possible that you’ve been rejected two years in a row?”

“That’s enough!”

“Uh-oh, sore spot! You’ve already thought it yourself, haven’t you?”

“Shut up, Charlie!”

“I’m not saying Lapidus planned it from the start, but do you have any idea what a pain it is for him to hire someone new and train him to think exactly like he does? You gotta find the right kid… preferably a poor one with no connections…”

“I said, shut up!”

“… promise him a job that’ll keep him there for a few years so he can pay off his debt…”

“Charlie, I swear to God…!”

“… then keep stringing him along until the poor fool actually realizes he and his whole family are going nowhere…”

“Shut up!” I yell, rushing forward. I’m in full rage. My hands go straight for the collar of his shirt.

Always the better athlete, Charlie ducks under my grasp and races back toward the eat-in kitchen. On the table, he spots a B-school catalogue from Columbia and a file folder with the word “Applications” on it.

“Are these…?”

“Don’t touch them!”

That’s all it takes. He goes straight for the file. But just as he flips it open, a letter-sized blue-and-white envelope falls to the floor. There’s a signature across the back, right where it’s sealed. Henry Lapidus.

The signature on the envelope is required by all four schools – to make sure I don’t open it. Indeed, the typed pages inside are the most important part of any business school application – the boss’s recommendation.

“Okay, who wants to play detective?” Charlie sings, waving the envelope over his head so it scrapes the basement’s low ceiling.

“Give it back!” I demand.

“Oh, c’mon, Oliver, it’s been four years already – if Lapidus is locking you in the dungeon, at least this way, you get the truth.”

“I already know the truth!” I yell, lunging forward and reaching out for the envelope. Once again, he ducks and spins under the attack.

Back by the bed, Charlie’s no longer dangling it in front of me. For once, he’s serious. “You know something’s screwy, Oliver – I can see it in your eyes. This guy took four years of your life. Four years in shackles on the promise of a later payoff. If he’s bashing you in the letter – forget about the fact that all the B-schools keep it on file – he’s ruined the whole plan. Your way out – how to pay mom’s debts – everything you were counting on. And even if you think you can start over, do you know how hard it is to move to a new job without a recommendation? Not exactly the ideal situation for covering the hospital bills and mom’s mortgage payments, now is it? So why don’t we just tear this bad boy open and-”

“Let go of it!” I explode. I plow straight at him, ready for the sidestep. But instead of ducking under, he hops backwards onto my bed and bounces like a seven-year-old. “Laaaaadies aaaaaaaaaand geeeeentlemen, the heavyweight champion of the wooooooorld!” He sings the last part, then imitates a crowd cheering wildly. When we were little, this is where I’d dive at his feet. Sometimes I’d catch him, sometimes I’d miss – but eventually, the four-year age difference would catch up with him.

“Get off my bed!” I shout. “You’ll pop one of the springs!”

Right there, Charlie stops. He’s still on the bed, but he’s done jumping. “I love you when I say this, Oliver – but that last statement – that’s exactly the problem.”

He steps to the edge of the mattress, and in one smooth move, drops himself on his butt, bounces off the bed, and springboards to his feet. No matter how risky, no matter how wild – always a perfect landing.