Shep grabs my legs and yanks me backwards. Shards of glass claw against my stomach. Ignoring the pain, I reach out for the fragment. I clutch it so hard, it almost slices the palm of my hand. And just as my feet hit the ground – before he knows what’s happening – I spin around and stab the jagged scalpel straight into his stomach.

His face turns white and he grabs his gut, staring down at the shiny blood that slicks his hands. He can barely believe it. “Motherf-” He looks up to face me. “You’re dead… dead…”

Reaching inside his jacket, he goes for his gun. I slash at his arm and slice him right above the wrist. Howling from the pain, he can’t hold on to it. The gun drops to the floor, and I kick it underneath the rocking horse. I’m not giving him another chance. His eyes burn bright red. And like a wounded bear, Shep thrashes forward, lunging for my neck. I slice the blade through the air and it tears his chest. My hand’s bleeding from gripping the sharp sides, but it’s clear who’s taking the brunt of it. For the first time, Shep stumbles. As he gets closer, I wind up with whatever strength I have left. For everything he did… everything he put us through – I ignore the blood, bury the consequences, and move in for the final blo-

I hear a loud wheeze back by the closet that leads next door. It stops me dead in my tracks. I know it like I know myself. To my left – inside the closet. Charlie’s holding his chest and gripping on to the wall to stand.

“Ollie…” he stutters, his mouth wide open. That’s all he gets out. Gasping for air, he crumbles to the ground. I turn for just two seconds. For Shep, it’s a lifetime.

Just as I turn back, he’s already barreling at me. My chest caves in as he pummels me like a tackling dummy. Crashing on my back and slamming into the concrete, I take a sharp jab to the kidneys. Shep pulls the jagged blade from my hand, slicing my palm even deeper.

As I scream out in pain, Shep doesn’t say a word. He’s done talking. Crawling upward, he sits on my chest and pins my biceps back with his knees. Thrashing frantically, I fight to pull my arms free. He weighs too much. I search his eyes, but it’s like no one’s there. Shep doesn’t care anymore. Not about me… not about the tapes… not even about the money.

Digging his knees into my biceps, he raises the blade like a guillotine. His eyes are on my neck. I’m not going to survive this one. I whisper an apology to Charlie. And to my mom. Shutting my eyes, I turn my head and brace for the impact.

But the next thing I hear is a gunshot. Then two more in quick succession. I look up just in time to see the bullets cleave through Shep’s chest. His body jerks violently as each one hits. A belch of blood dribbles out of his mouth. In his hand, the glass blade falls and shatters on the floor. Then, as his arm slumps to his side, Shep’s body wobbles slightly and collapses backwards.

Following the sound, I trace the trajectory. That’s when I see her, sitting up on the floor. Not unconscious… awake… Joey… The way the light shines behind her, all I see is her shadow. And the wisp of smoke that rises from her pistol.

She climbs to her feet, races for the wall, and smashes the butt of her gun against the glass case of the nearby fire alarm. The shrill alarm screams through the silence and within a minute, I hear sirens in the distance. Joey spins around and heads for my brother. Oh, jeez…

“Charlie!” I shout. “Charlie!” I try to sit up, but my whole arm is on fire. None of my fingers move. My body’s shaking as it goes into shock.

Back by the entrance, half a dozen Disney security guards come streaming into the warehouse. They all come running at me; Joey stays with my brother. “Please sit still, sir,” one of the guards says, holding my shoulders to keep me from squirming. Next to Charlie, four other guards kneel down, blocking my view.

“I can’t see him! Let me see!” I shout, straining my neck wildly. No one moves. They’re all focused on Shep’s lifeless body.

“He’s got V-tach! He needs mexiletine!” I scream in Joey’s direction. She’s doing CPR, but the more I thrash around, the more the room starts to turn. The world tumbles and somersaults on its side. My lifeless arm elongates like a rubberband above my head. The guard says something, but the only thing I hear is static. No, don’t pass out, I tell myself. I look up at the ceiling. It’s already too late. Life turns black and white, then quickly fades to gray. “Is he okay!? Tell me if he’s okay?” I yell at the top of my lungs.

Another dozen officers race into the warehouse. They’re all shouting static. And as gray blurs to pitch, lifeless black, I never get my answer.

Just like Charlie predicted, it’s the staring that’s the worst. Forget the whispering, and the unsubtle pointing, and even the way they walk past me as the gossip burns its way through the office. All those I can live with. But as I sit in the oh-so-pristine first-floor conference room and gaze through the plate glass window that separates me from my former bank co-workers, I can’t help but feel like the monkey in the zoo. Scurrying through the maze of rolltop desks, they’re trying their best to play it cool. But each time one of them passes – each time someone steps off the elevator, or races to the copy machine, or even sits back at their desk – their head turns for a split second and they hit me with that stare: part curiosity, part moral judgment. Some pepper it with shame; others add a smidgen of disgust.

It’s been two weeks since the news hit, but this is their first chance to actually see it for themselves. And even though most of them have made up their minds, there are still a few who want to know if it’s true. Those are the hardest ones to face. Whatever else Charlie and I did to save the day, it still was never our money.

For almost a full hour, I sit there and take the beating of their stares and whispers and awkward pointing. I try to make eye contact, but that’s when they look away. On most days, only the lowest of the worker bees are caught in the hive of rolltop desks by the front entrance. Today, by the end of the first half-hour, almost every employee in the bank has found an excuse to come down and check out the monkey behind the glass. That’s why they put me here in the first place. If they wanted to make it easy, they could’ve snuck me through the rock star entrance around back and whisked me upstairs in the private elevator. Instead, they’ve decided to put on a show and remind me that my private elevator days are over. Like everything at Greene & Greene, it’s all about perception.

The traffic peaks when Lapidus and Quincy finally make their entrance. They don’t say anything to me directly. Everything’s done through their lawyer – a nasty mosquito with a high-pitched drone. He tells me that they’re withholding my final paycheck until the full investigation is complete, that my health benefits are terminated effective immediately, that they’ll seek legal recourse if I contact any current or former bank clients, and as a cherry on top, that they’ll be contacting the SEC and the banking regulatory agencies with the hope that it’ll stop me from working at any other bank in the future.

“Fine,” I say. “Are you done?”

The lawyer looks to Lapidus and Quincy. Both nod.

“Wonderful,” I say. “Then this is for you…” I slap a letter-sized blue-and-white envelope onto the desk and slide it across to Lapidus. It’s blank on top. Lapidus glances at the lawyer.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a summons,” I tell him.

Flipping it over, Lapidus notices his own shredded signature across the back flap.

It’s the only reason I came back here today…

He opens the envelope and unfolds my business school recommendation letter.

… I wanted to see his face. And let him know I knew.