The Millionaires by Brad Meltzer Page B

Shep?” I ask.
    “Actually, I was hoping to help
you,
” Shep blurts. There go the kid gloves.
    “Excuse me?” I ask.
    “I just wanted to talk to you about that transfer you made to Tanner Drew…”
    Charlie’s shoulders sag with instant dread. He’s no good with confrontation.
    “That was a perfectly legal transfer,” I challenge.
    “
Listen,
” Shep interrupts. “Spare me the tone.” Sensing that he has our attention, he adds, “I already spoke to Lapidus—he’s thrilled
     you had the balls to take charge. Tanner Drew’s happy; all is well. But from my side of the desk… well, I don’t like seeing
     forty million dollars go zip… especially when you’re using someone else’s password.”
    How’d he know we—
    “You think they hired me for my looks?” Shep asks, laughing. “With thirteen billion at risk, we’ve got the best security money
     can buy.”
    “Well, if you need any backup, I’ve got a pretty good bike lock,” Charlie adds, trying to keep things light.
    Shep turns directly toward him. “Oh, man, would you love it, Charlie—I got this one option—you ever heard of Investigator
     software?”
    Charlie shakes his head. He’s out of jokes.
    “It lets you do keystroke monitoring,” Shep adds, all his attention now on me. “Which means when you’re sitting at your computer,
     I can see every word you’re typing. E-mail, letters, passwords… as soon as you hit the key, it pops up on my screen.”
    “You sure that’s legal?” I ask.
    “You kiddin’? It’s like standard issue these days—Exxon, Delta Airlines, even bitchy spouses who want to see what their husbands
     are doing in chat rooms—they all use it. I mean, why do you think the bank puts all our computers on one network—so you can
     send in-house e-mail? Big Brother ain’t comin’—he’s been here for years.”
    I glance over at Charlie, who’s staring way too intently at the computer screen. Oh, jeez. The fake letter…
    “It’s really amazin’,” Shep continues. “You can program it like an alarm—so if someone’s using Mary’s password, and the security
     system says she’s no longer in the building… it’ll pop up on your screen and tell you what’s going on.”
    “Listen, I’m sorry I hadda do that…”
    “So there’s the Brooklyn accent,” Shep grins. “What, it only comes out when you’re nervous? Is that when you forget to hide
     it?”
    “No, it’s just… under the circumstances, I didn’t know what to…”
    “Donworryaboudit,” Shep says, rubbing in the old neighborhood. “Like I said, Lapidus didn’t give a squat. When it comes to
     the tech stuff, he doesn’t care that I can see when someone types in Mary’s name, or his name…” Shep glances over my shoulder
     and his voice slows down. “… or even that I can see when someone’s using a company computer to write a fraudulent letter.”
    Charlie shoots up in his seat, and suddenly I’m not the only one wearing the constipated mask.
    “I’ll tell ya, they never had that when I was in the Service,” Shep continues, taking a few steps toward us and rolling up
     his shirtsleeves. He scratches his forearms—first right, then left—and I see for the first time how massive they are. “These
     days… with the computers… you can have ’em notify you of anything…” he adds, the old neighborhood now long gone. “… forty-million-dollar
     transfers to Tanner Drew… or three-million-dollar transfers to Marty Duckworth…”
    Son of a bitch.
    I’m paralyzed. I can’t move.
    “It’s over, son. We know what you’re up to.”
    Charlie jumps out of his seat and pumps a little laughter into his voice. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Shep—easy on the nightstick—you
     don’t think we—”
    Shep plows past him, a finger pointed straight at my face. “Do I look blind to you, Oliver!?” Looking down, I don’t answer.
     “I asked you a question, son: Do you really think I’m that much of a moron? I knew from the