The Millionaires
you Orlando.”
    “We talking
Tony Orlando,
or we talking
Florida?
” Charlie asks.
    I look him straight in the eye. “Both.”
    “Both?” Charlie laughs, finally impressed.
    “There’s the pause! Count it right there!” I shout. It’s been a long time since he’s been the first to give up. Still, I’ll
     take it. It’s not every day you get to beat a master at his own game.
    “See, now that’s what I’m talking about,” he eventually says. “Why would we spend another day busting our humps at the bank
     when we can get ourselves blimps and Internets and lobsters?”
    “You’re so right, Charles,” I say in my best British accent. “And the best part is, no one would know the money was gone.”
    Charlie stops. “They wouldn’t, would they?”
    I come out of character. “What’re you talking about?”
    “Is it really that crazy, Ollie?” he asks, his voice now serious. “I mean, who’s really gonna miss that cash? The owner’s
     dead… it’s about to be stolen by someone else… and if the government gets it… oh, they’ll really put the funds to good use.”
    Just like that, I sit up straight. “Charlie, I hate to burst your seventeenth fantasy for the day, but what you’re talking
     about is
illegal.
Say it out loud…
illll-eeeeeegal.”
    He shoots me a look that I haven’t seen since our last fight about mom. Son of a bitch. He’s not joking.
    “You said it yourself, Oliver—it’s the perfect crime—”
    “That doesn’t mean it’s right!”
    “Don’t talk to me about right—rich people… big companies… they steal from the government all day long and no one says a word—but
     instead of
stealing,
we just call ’em
loopholes
and
corporate welfare.

    Typical dreamer. “C’mon, Charlie, you know the world’s not perfect…”
    “I’m not asking for perfect—but you know how many breaks the tax code has for the rich? Or for a big corporation that can
     afford a good lobbyist? When people like Tanner Drew file their 1040EZ, they barely pay a dollar in income tax. But mom—who’s
     barely making twenty-eight grand a year—half of what she owns goes straight to Uncle Sam.”
    “That’s not true; I had the planners at the bank—”
    “Don’t tell me they’re saving her a few bucks, Oliver. It’s not gonna make a difference. Between the mortgage, and the credit
     cards, and everything else dad stuck us with when he left—you have any idea how long that’ll take to pay off? And that’s not
     even including what we owe the hospital. What’s that at now? Eighty thousand? Eighty-two thousand?”
    “Eighty-one thousand four hundred and fifty dollars,” I clarify. “But just because you feel guilty about the hospital, doesn’t
     mean we have to—”
    “It’s not about guilt—it’s about eighty thousand dollars, Ollie! Do you even realize how much that is? And it’s still growing
     every time we head back to the doctor!”
    “I have a plan—”
    “Oh, that’s right, your great, fifty-step plan! How’s it go again? Lapidus and the bank bring you to business school, which’ll
     bring you up the ladder, which’ll make all our debt disappear? Does that about cover it? ’Cause I hate to break it to you,
     Ollie, but you’ve been there four years and mom’s still breathing hospital fumes. We’re barely making a dent—this is our chance
     to set her free. Think about how many years that’ll add to her life! She doesn’t have to be second-class anymore…”
    “She’s not second-class.”
    “She is, Ollie. And so are we,” Charlie insists. “Now I’m sorry if that ruins your priceless self-image, but it’s time to
     find a way to get her out. Everyone deserves a fresh start—especially mom.”
    As the words leave Charlie’s lips, I feel them tear at my belly. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Taking care of mom has
     always been top priority. For both of us. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to follow him over the cliff. “I don’t

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