The Millionaires (39 page)

B
randt Katkin—nice to meet you,” he says as he shakes each of our hands.

“Jeff Liszt,” I say, using another name from the bank. Katkin looks down at my nametag, which says
Lapidus.

“Sorry…” Charlie jumps in, exactly how we practiced. “Mr. Lapidus was running late, so we asked Mr. Liszt to join us instead…”

“No, of course,” Katkin says, too polished to show even a hint of annoyance. In the VC world of name-dropping and instant
impressions, he’s well accustomed to the bait-and-switch. Leading us back to his office, he weaves through the corporate gray
hallways. I’m in front, followed by Gillian. Charlie’s in back.

The further we move from reception, the quieter it gets. Scanning around, I try to check out individual offices, but quickly
realize every door is closed.

“So has this always been a division of the Secret Service?” Charlie asks. He’s got his usual playful tone, but there’s no
mistaking the anxiousness in his voice.

“I wouldn’t call us a division,” Katkin clarifies as we make a sharp left into his office. He’s wearing khakis, loafers, and
a Doral golf shirt. The Miami three-piece suit. But the flat twang of his Minnesota accent makes him seem out of place. “It’s
more of a partnership.”

Gillian and I take the two seats in front of Katkin’s enormous glass-top desk. Charlie steals a space on the contemporary
black leather couch. The office is high-tech wannabe on a government-issue budget. In the corner, a black-lacquered credenza
is covered with dozens of deal toys—the thank-you trinkets a company gives out when a big deal closes: a toy fire-engine,
a fake syringe, a bookend shaped like a microchip. Typical business jockey. Directly above, there’s a framed certificate commemorating
Katkin’s appointment as a Special Agent in the Secret Service. Charlie’s staring straight at it.

Partnership, my big fat behind,
he signals.

I nod in agreement. Secret Service is Secret Service. Still, Katkin doesn’t seem to know us—which means, wherever they are,
Gallo and DeSanctis are still keeping quiet.

“So how exactly does the fund work?” I stammer, trying not to panic.

“Don’t let the Secret Service part fool you,” Katkin says. “This is just the next step in R&D. With technology whizzing along
at lightspeed, government agencies couldn’t keep up. As soon as we figured out one security system, another popped up in its
place. CIA… FBI… everyone was at least five years behind the private market. The CIA opened In-Q-Tel to close the gap. Two
years ago, we opened Five Points.

“It’s simple when you think about it,” he continues. “Why kill yourself trying to sprint against Silicon Valley, when you
can let them line up at your door? It’s the beauty of the ballgame—every new idea needs money, even the illegal ones. And
this way, we make it all work in our favor. For example, if a guy invents a bullet that slices through Kevlar, instead of
letting him go to the black market, we buy it ourselves, figure out what makes it tick, and then outfit our agents with the
appropriate countermeasures. It’s the best of both worlds—we can use it ourselves, or beat it if it’s used against us. By
the time we’re done, our entrepreneurs get their funding—and we get a first-look at the best blueprints.”

“So the government keeps the profits?” I ask.

“What profits?” Katkin teases. “We’re a 501(c)(3). Nonprofit is our middle name. That way, the politicians are happy, competitors
don’t see us as a threat, and we’re still allowed to jump into the world of business. Welcome to the future. Government, Inc.”

“If you can’t beat ’em…” Charlie begins.

“Eat ’em,” Katkin jokes. Too bad he’s the only one laughing. “Now what can I help you with today?”

“It’s about my dad,” Gillian says, finally speaking up. “Marty Duckworth…”

“Duckworth was your father?” Katkin asks, sounding amused. “I really liked that guy. How’s he doing these days?”

Gillian’s gaze drops away. “Actually, he passed away recently.”

“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry,” Katkin offers. I watch closely for his reaction. Eyes wide. Chest sunk. Not overly shocked, but clearly
concerned. I look over my shoulder and peek at Charlie for the confirmation. He sees it too.

If this guy’s acting, he’s getting this year’s Emmy,
Charlie agrees.

“I didn’t realize…” Katkin continues.

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, turning on my inner banker. “As you might’ve guessed, we’re representing Mr. Duckworth’s estate
and thought there might be a few things you could help us with. You see, when we were going through his effects, we found
this…” Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out the nondisclosure agreement and hand it to Katkin.

Nodding to himself, Katkin fights a grin. “There it is—the one that got away…”

“Excuse me?”

“He was brilliant, but he was a real character. Purebred entrepreneur. I mean, we were once at the airport on a moving walkway
and I jokingly said, ‘How long do you think it would take to walk around the world on something like this?’ He thinks about
it for a second, then turns to me and says, ‘2,633.3 hours—assuming you’re using the Earth’s polar diameter and not the equatorial
one.’ ”

Gillian wants to laugh, but can’t go through with it.

“So you remember dealing with him?” Charlie asks.

“How could I forget? He was a cold call, I tell ya. Just found our name in the phonebook. To be honest, they opened this office
to cast lines to Latin America… Who would’ve ever thought someone like him would stumble in?”

Leaning forward, Gillian crosses her arms and holds her own stomach. “What did he say?” she asks, sounding pained.

“He just walked in. Laptop under one hand, rusty old clipboard in the other. We sent an intern to talk to him—we don’t take
unsolicited submissions in the office. Ten minutes later, they took him to the commercialization folks. Ten minutes after
that, they brought him straight to me.” Waving the NDA in front of him, Katkin added, “We used to joke that he downloaded
this off some law firm’s website. But to his credit, he wouldn’t show us how it worked until we signed it.”

“It was that good?”

“Y’know how many NDAs we signed last year?” Katkin asks. “Two,” he answers. “And the other one was for the guy from—” He cuts
himself off. “Let’s just say… it’s someone you’ve heard of.”

Charlie sits up straight, knowing we’re close. “So you signed it?”

“He left the paperwork with us. We hemmed… we hawed… eventually, we signed. But after the first few appointments—I’m guessing
it was about eight months ago—we never heard from him again.”

“Wha?” Charlie and I say simultaneously.

“That’s exactly what we thought. We were all set to go—we had our team… it was in the budget—we even flew in our financial
crimes expert from New York.”

The instant he mentions our hometown, a sharp pain swoops in between my shoulders. It’s like a vulture gnawing at the back
of my neck.

“New York?” I ask.

“We actually have some friends in the New York office,” Charlie adds. “What’s his name?”

Gillian scowls, but it does the trick.

“Oh, he’s one of our best,” Katkin says as the vulture’s claws dig deeper. I stare blankly through the glass desk while his
feet rest easily on the carpet. “Really nice guy,” Katkin explains. “His name’s Jim Gallo.”

E
verything okay?” Katkin asks, confused by our silence.

“Of course,” Charlie insists as we try to pull it together. “That’s just… Jim Gallo isn’t the guy we know…”

“It’s a big office,” Katkin admits.

“So my dad took the idea with him when he left?” Gillian asks, anxious to get back to the invention.

“Happens all the time,” Katkin answers. “Entrepreneurs come in, they talk it up, and when a better offer gets slapped in front
of them, we never hear from them again. That’s the business. And with a moneymaker like this—I mean, some of those things
he was working on… I don’t know how he pulled it off, but—I just assumed he found a new partner and moved on.”

“See, that’s what we’re hoping you could help us with,” I interrupt. “With the lack of documentation in Mr. Duckworth’s estate,
we’re having a hard time putting a valuation on his inventions…”

“We just want to know what he made,” Gillian jumps in.

Charlie twists in his seat.
Goodbye patience; hello desperation,
he glares.

“I’m sorry,” Katkin begins. “I’m not permitted to give out that information.”

“But she’s Mr. Duckworth’s only heir,” I insist.

“And that’s a nondisclosure agreement,” Katkin shoots back.

“We’re not asking for schematics…”

“No, you’re asking me to violate a binding legal contract—and in the process, open our company up to a mess of liability.”

“Can you at least tell us what it has to do with the photos?” Gillian pleads.

“The what?”

“These…” From my jacket pocket, I pull out the strip with the four side-by-side headshots.

Katkin’s face is blank. He has no idea what he’s looking at.

“We found it with the agreement,” Charlie explains.

“Do you know who they are?” Gillian asks.

“Not a one,” he says in full Minnesota drawl. “Never seen them before in my life.”

“So it doesn’t have to do with the invention?” I ask.

“I already told you…”

“I know—but this is far more important than a dead man’s gag order,” I push. It’s one push too many.

Katkin stands from his seat and stares down at all of us. “I think we’re done here.”

“Please… you don’t understand…” I beg.

“It was nice meeting all of you,” Katkin says coldly.

Hopping up, Charlie heads for the door. Gillian follows. “Let’s go,” Charlie calls.

“But it’s extremely urgent that we—”

“
Oliver, let’s go!
”

Katkin looks my way and the oxygen is sucked from the room. Crap. Fake names.

I freeze. Gillian and Charlie just stand there. Katkin drills us with a stare that’s so bitter, it actually burns.

“Son, I don’t know who you think you are, but let me give you a nugget of advice—you don’t want to pick this fight.”

Charlie puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me toward the door. In four seconds, we’re gone.

* * * *

“
What did he make? What did he make?
” Charlie moans from the backseat of Gillian’s vintage blue Beetle. “Why’d you have to start blabbing like that?”

“
I
blabbed?” Gillian blasts as she stares him down through the rearview mirror. “Who’s this?
Oliver… Oliver—Oops, did I just get us escorted out of the building? I’m sorry—I wasn’t thinking. In fact, I wasn’t using
a
single
brain cell.
”

“Can both of you please stop?” I beg, sitting shotgun as we ride back across the causeway. “We’re lucky we got as much as
we did.”

“What’re you talking about?” Charlie asks.

“You heard Katkin—the story about Duckworth… bringing in Gallo—at least now we know what we’re looking at.”

“So you think Gallo came in and made dad a better offer?” Gillian asks.

“You tell me,” I begin. “Act One: Your dad scrounges around for VC money to help with his invention. Act Two: He brings the
idea to Five Points Capital, arm of the Secret Service. Act Three: Gallo is brought in. Act Four: Your dad suddenly changes
his mind, falls off the face of the earth, and rents a crappy place in Gallo’s hometown. What do you think is most likely,
Miss Marple?”

“So Gallo was called into Five Points Capital to consult, but when he saw the invention…”

“… he realized he could take it to the black market and sell it on his own. From there, he approaches Duckworth:
Why split it with the VC, when we can keep it for ourselves?
”

Charlie leans forward between the bucket seats. “But if they were working together, why would Gallo turn on him?”

“Because keeping the profits for himself is better than splitting it in two:
Sure, Marty, we’ll help you build the prototype… Yeah, Marty, it’ll be better if you work directly with us… Thanks for the
help, Marty, now we’ll take your idea, stuff all our cash in an account with your name on it, and you can play fall guy.
The moment Duckworth realized what was going on was the same moment they took him out. Only by then, they already had their
hands on his baby.”

Gillian stares out the window, completely silent.

“You know what I mean,” I add.

She doesn’t respond.

“What about the money itself?” Charlie asks. “Even if the theory’s right, it doesn’t tell us how they hid it in the bank.”

“That’s why I think they had an inside man,” I say.

“Maybe that’s where the photos come in,” Gillian says, suddenly bouncing back. I pull down the mirror in the sun visor just
in time to see Charlie make a face.

“Maybe that’s who’s in the photos—that’s who helped Gallo hide it,” Gillian adds.

“I don’t know,” I say, grabbing the strip of photos from my jacket. “I’ve never seen these people in my life.”

“Could they be from another office? Don’t you have branches around the country?”