The Millionaires by Brad Meltzer Page A

Charlie, enough with the jokes,” I say, chasing after him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I mean, do you
     ever actually stop and think about the consequences, or do you just jump off the cliff, content with being the town idiot?”
    At the far end of the car, he stops dead in his tracks and turns around, glaring straight at me. “Do I look that stupid to
     you?”
    “Well, considering what you—”
    “I didn’t give him anything,” Charlie growls in a low whisper. “He has no idea where it is.”
    I pause as the train skids into Grand Street—the last subway stop in Manhattan. The moment the doors open, dozens of hunched-over
     Chinese men and women flood the car carrying pink plastic shopping bags that reek of fresh fish. Chinatown for groceries—then
     on the subway, back to Brooklyn. “What’re you talking about?” I ask.
    “When I showed him the Red Sheet… I pointed to the wrong bank. On purpose, Ollie.” Stepping in close, he adds, “I gave him
     some random place in Antigua where we have nothing. Not even a shiny dime. Of course—and this is really the best part—you
     were so busy yelling, he believed every word.” It takes me a second to process. “Don’t have a brain blow, Oliver. I’m not
     letting anyone take our cash.”
    With a sharp tug, he tries to slide open the service door between the two subway cars. It’s locked. Annoyed, he cuts around
     me, heading back exactly the way we came. Before I can say a word, the train chugs forward… and my brother’s lost in the crowd.
    “Charlie!” I shout, racing after him. “You’re a genius!”
    * * * *
    “I still don’t understand when you planned it,” I say as we walk up the broken concrete sidewalks of Avenue U in Sheepshead
     Bay, Brooklyn.
    “I didn’t,” Charlie admits. “I thought of it as I was folding over the Red Sheet.”
    “Are you kidding me?” I ask, laughing. “Oh, man—he never knew what hit him!”
    I wait for him to laugh back, but it never happens. Nothing but silence.
    “What?” I ask. “Now I can’t be happy the money’s safe? I’m just relieved you—”
    “Oliver, have you been listening to yourself? You spend the whole day crying a river and saying we have to play it cool, but
     then the moment I tell you I screwed over Shep, you’re acting like the guy who got the last pair of Zeppelin tickets.”
    Heading up the block, I stare around at the mom-and-pop storefronts that dot the Avenue U landscape—pizza parlors, cigar stores,
     discount shoes, a barely breathing barber shop. Except for the pizza place, they’re all closed for the night. When we were
     little, that meant the owners shut the lights and locked the doors. Today, it means lowering a roll-down steel-reinforced
     shield that looks like a metal garage door. No doubt about it, trust isn’t what it used to be.
    “C’mon, Charlie—I know you love taking in the lost puppy, but you barely know this guy—”
    “It doesn’t matter!” Charlie interrupts. “We’re still screwing him over and twisting the butter knife in his back!” Nearing
     the corner of the block, he stretches his arm out and lets his fingertips skate along the metal shield that hides the used
     bookstore. “Damn!” Charlie shouts, punching the metal as hard as he can. “He trusted us t—” He grits his teeth and cuts himself
     off. “It’s exactly what I hate about money…”
    He makes a sharp right on Bedford Avenue, and the garage door storefronts give way to an uninspired 1950s-era six-story apartment
     building.
    “I see handsome men!” a female voice shouts from a window on the fourth floor. I don’t even have to look up to know who it
     is.
    “Thanks, mom,” I mutter under my breath. Keep the routine, I tell myself as I follow Charlie toward the lobby. Monday night
     is Family Night. Even when you don’t want it to be.
    By the time the elevator reaches the fourth floor and we head to mom’s apartment, Charlie’s yet to say a