The Millionaires (48 page)

W
alt 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.”

“No… don’t say that!” I plead, thankful we picked an outdoor payphone. “It has to be! I just saw it!”

“I already checked twice…”

“This is Stoughton we’re talking about! If I don’t get his presentation up there…” I breathe heavy through my nose, trying
to sound like I’m fighting tears. “There’s gotta be some way to get it back. Where do you keep the backups?” It’s a bluff,
but not a risky one. Every sixty minutes, the bank’s computer systems run an automatic backup to protect it from things like
viruses and power failures. Then we store the copy somewhere else, purely for safety purposes. A company the size of Disney
has to do the same.

“In the DISC building… in the North Service Area,” he says without even thinking. “That’s where they keep all the long-term
stuff.”

“Forget long-term—I need what was there three hours ago!”

There’s a pause on the other line. “The only thing I can think of are the tapes in DACS.”

I hate techno jargon. “What tapes?”

“Data tapes—the tapes we back up the site with. Since DACS makes a copy every night, that’s my best guess to where they should
be.”

“And where’s this place DACS?”

“In the tunnels.”

“The tunnels?” I ask.

“Y’know,
the tunnels,
” he says, almost surprised. “The ones below the Magic Kingd—” He stops and there’s another pause. This one’s longer. “What
department did you say you worked in?” he finally asks.

“Disney Online,” I quickly counter.

“What division?” he challenges. In the background, I hear him once again clicking at his keyboard.

I don’t have an answer.

“What’d you say your name was again?” he adds.

That’s my cue. Abandon ship. I slam the phone in its cradle.

“What’d he say?” Charlie asks.

“Are there backups?” Gillian adds.

Ignoring the question, I look up toward the blinding sun in the sky. I have to squint to see it. It’s a few minutes past two.
Time’s running out. But I finally see the end in sight. The tapes don’t just show reality—they show a reality that Duckworth
invented… and that Gallo had clear access to. “Let’s get out of here,” I say.

“Where to?” Gillian asks.

“Is it far?” Charlie adds.

“That depends how fast we drive,” I reply as I run toward the car. “How long does it take to get to Disney World?”

W
hat?
” Gallo asked. Pinching the cell phone between his shoulder and ear, he and DeSanctis raced up I-95. “Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie?” his associate asked on the other line.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Listen, I already said I was sorry.”

“Don’t bullshit me with sorry,” Gallo hammered. “Did you really think we wouldn’t see you? That you could just sneak in without
us getting a good look?”

“I wasn’t sneaking anywhere. We were just reacting as fast as we could. We threw it together in about six hours—and once I
got in, you were already gone.”

“He still should’ve called.”

“Can you please stop with the guilty mother routine?” his associate pleaded. “He said you already went through this—once Oliver
and Charlie found what was in the remote, we were better off putting out the whole fire. After everything else, the last thing
we need is to get burned by a loose end.”

“He still should’ve dropped word with me—especially when he’s just sitting on his ass in New York.”

“No, no, no—not anymore. He flew in first thing this morning.”

“Really?” Gallo asked as the Florida interstate whizzed past his window. “So he’s close?”

“Close as he can get. But if it makes you feel any better, next time we’ll send a Hallmark.”

“Actually, you should send it to DeSanctis. He’s the one that got gashed in the head.”

“Yeah… sorry about that…”

“Sure you are,” Gallo said coldly. Turning toward DeSanctis, he pointed to the sign for the Florida Turnpike.

“You positive?” DeSanctis whispered as Gallo nodded.

“Listen, I gotta run. I’m in demand these days.”

Gallo rolled his eyes. “So you’re sure they’re going to Disney World?” he asked.

“That’s where the backup copies are,” she replied. “And the one remaining place where Charlie and Oliver can still prove what
happened.”

Gallo squeezed his phone as he thought about the tapes. “I still don’t see why we don’t clip their necks now and save ourselves
the headache.”

“Because contrary to what the macho portion of your brain says, torturing them isn’t the way to get your hands on the money.”

“And your way is?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Gillian said as her voice sank down to a whisper. “A few hours, to be exact.”

Y
ou sure we shouldn’t rent a minivan or something more Disney-ish?” Charlie asks as he takes a full whiff of the gas station.
He’s tucked in the backseat and calling the questions out the driver’s side window. I’m squeezing the nozzle and pumping the
car full of gas. He already started to join us outside, but stopped himself before his foot hit the pavement. He’s finally
learned caution. The less seen, the better.

“And how do you plan on renting this van? With what credit card?” I ask as I squeegee the front window. Anything to keep us
looking normal. “Remember what that guy said in Hoboken? It’s the big purchases that get you noticed.”

“Didn’t he also say something about scorned women?” he counters.

I make a face. A week ago, I would’ve gotten into it. Today, it’s not worth it.

The gas nozzle clicks, telling us the tank is full. Stuck in the backseat and lost in the fumes, Charlie looks like he’s six
years old. Back then, when dad took us to the gas station on Ocean Avenue, he used to always say, “Ten bucks, please.” Not
“Fill it up.” He only said “Fill it up,” when he closed a big deal. That was twice. Everything else was ten bucks. But—dad
being dad—he still used full service. Just to prove we had some class.

“We ready?” Gillian asks, turning the corner and returning from the minimart bathroom. I nod as I slap the gas tank shut.
Gillian hops in the driver’s seat and readjusts the rearview. She glances at Charlie in the mirror, but when he catches her
eye, she looks away, hits the gas, and sends us whipping back in our seats. Cats and dogs.

According to the guy in the gas station, it’s a three-hour drive to Orlando. If we’re fast, we’ll be there before dark.

Fourteen miles later, we’re at a dead stop in traffic. The Florida Turnpike may be the fastest route to Orlando, but as we
wait in line at the Cypress Creek toll booth, nothing moves quickly.

“This is ridiculous,” I complain as we inch forward. “They’ve got two hundred cars and four open toll lanes.”

“Welcome to Florida math,” Gillian replies. Swerving to the left, she angles for the one lane that actually looks like it’s
moving. Directly in front of us, while other cars roll forward, a black Acura sits still for about thirty seconds too long.
“
Let’s go!
” Gillian shouts as she pounds the horn. “Pick a lane and move!”

“Can I ask a silly question?” Charlie interrupts from the backseat. “Remember that Disney kid—the one on the phone who told
us the backups were in this DACS place? Well, what if he got so spooked out, he started looking for the backups himself?”

“He’s not going to do that,” I answer, turning around to face him.

“How do you know?”

“I could hear it in his voice,” I say. “He wasn’t the type to investigate. And even if he was—he’d have no idea what he was
looking at.”

“You sure about that?” he asks.

Still facing Charlie, I feel a sudden, almost microscopic twitch in my eyebrow. He spots it instantly. “See what I’m saying?”
he asks. “The Greene & Greene logo would be onscreen. All it’d take is a phone call to the bank… and another to Gallo and
DeSanctis…”

As we roll toward the shadow of the toll booth, the sun fades from above. And it fades fast. It’s only then that I turn around
and notice our speed. The engine’s revving. We’re about to blow

through the toll booth at thirty miles an hour.

“Gillian…”

“Relax, it’s SunPass,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder and motioning toward the bar code sticker on her left rear window.

Charlie stares out the windshield; I look up to follow. The sign above the toll says
SunPass Only.

Damn.

“Don’t go through…!” Charlie shouts.

It’s already too late.

We glide through the toll booth and a digital scanner focuses coldly on the car. Charlie and I simultaneously duck in our
seats.

“What’re you doing?” Gillian asks. “It’s not a videocamera…”

Out the back window, the toll booth fades behind us. Charlie shoots up in his seat.

“Dammit!” I shout, pounding the dashboard.

“Wh-What?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“What’s wrong? It’s just SunPass…”

“… which uses the same technology as a supermarket scanner!” I blast. “Don’t you know how easy it is for them to trace this
stuff? They know who you are in a heartbeat!”

Now Gillian’s the one who sinks a bit. “I-I didn’t think it was…” Her voice trails off and she tries her best to get my attention.
She’s not getting it. I flip down the visor mirror to check on Charlie.