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.Trust me,I insist.Over the past four years, I’ve taken tons of clients on the venture capital roadshow.And even in Florida, it takes a big name to open a big door.Fidgeting with the tie he borrowed from Duckworth, Charlie sits back on the cream-colored sofa.The instant Gillian sits next to him, he gets up and paces.I scowl, but he doesn’t care.Ignoring me, he pretends to check out the view of Brickell Avenue from the enormous plate glass windows.“Mr.Lapidus, can you please sign in for me?” the receptionist asks me.She points to a free-standing computer kiosk right next to her desk.Onscreen, there’s a blank for your name.I type in Henry Lapidus and hit Enter.Behind the receptionist, a high-tech laser printer hums and spits out an ID sticker.Henry Lapidus—Visitor.But unlike a normal guest pass, the front of this one has a liquid, almost translucent quality to it.Underneath, if you angle it in the light, the word Expired appears in faint red letters.“What’s this made of?” I ask, rubbing my thumb against the smooth pass.“Aren’t they wild?” the receptionist croons.“After eight hours, the ink on the front dissolves and the Expired part becomes bright red.”I nod, impressed.“You guys take security pretty seriously, don’t you?” Charlie adds.“We don’t have a choice,” the receptionist says with a laugh.“I mean… considering who we’re partners with…”“Totally,” Charlie says, forcing his own fake laugh.“Absolutely,” I agree.We stare at the woman.She stares right back.We’re clueless.“So what’s it like working with them?” Charlie asks, searching for details.“Honestly? It’s not that big a deal.I thought they’d show up in dark suits and sunglasses—but they’re like everyone else—they put on their tank tops one armhole at a time.”Charlie eyes me; I eye Gillian.“The only difference is, we now get government tank tops,” she adds with a laugh.My whole face freezes.“You’re part of the government?”“Not directly, but—” Cutting herself off, she adds, “Oh, I’m sorry—I thought you knew.It’s in all our clippings…” She hands me a press kit in a forest green folder.I flip it open as Charlie and Gillian read over my shoulder.It’s right there on the front page: Welcome to Five Points Capital, the venture fund of the United States Secret Service.Behind us, a door swings open.“Mr.Lapidus?” a baritone voice asks.We turn around and a tall man with military shoulders and thick forearms extends a handshake.His watch has a gold presidential seal.“Brandt Katkin,” he introduces himself.“Please… c’mon in.”51Secret Service—this is Marta.”“Hi, Marta,” Quincy said calmly into his speakerphone.“I’m looking for Agent Jim Gallo…”“One moment and I’ll transfer you to a supervis—”“I don’t want to be transferred—I’ve already been transferred twice.” Sitting with his hands folded tightly on his desk, Quincy was determined to keep his cool.After last night’s partner meeting… there’d already been enough yelling.Even threatening.Now, though—now was the time for calm.“The supervisor I spoke to transferred me back to Agent Gallo’s voicemail.It doesn’t do me any good,” he explained.“Now can you please find him for me? It’s an emergency.”“Is someone in physical danger, sir?”“No, but he—”“Then Agent Gallo will get back to you as soon as he returns.”Tightening his grip on the phone, Quincy drummed his fingers against the crystal bowl of caramels on the corner of his desk.The candy was just for clients.Made grown men feel like boys.Beyond the crystal bowl—through the glass paneling next to his door—Quincy eyed the flurry of people who swarmed back and forth across the seventh floor.On the opposite end, the door to Lapidus’s office suddenly flew open and his partner stormed out.When Lapidus was walking that fast, there was only one place he was headed.“Ma’am, you don’t understand,” Quincy insisted.“I need to find Agent Gallo.Now.”“I’m sorry, sir—the supervisor transferred you back, and Agent Gallo isn’t at his desk.”“Clearly he’s not at his desk.That’s why I want to know where he is.”“Even so, sir, we don’t give out that information.”“But he’s supposed to—”“I’m sorry, sir—there’s nothing I can do.”“But—”“I’m sorry, sir.Have a good day.” There was a click on the line and a knock at the door.Quincy kept the receiver close as Lapidus stepped inside.“Yeah… no… don’t worry—everyone’s sitting tight,” Quincy said into the phone.“Okay… Thanks, Jim… I’ll speak to you later.”“You found Gallo?” Lapidus asked as Quincy hung up.“Ask and thou shalt receive.”“So what’d he say?” Lapidus asked.“Nothing really—he won’t get into specifics.”“Does he know where they are?”“Hard to tell,” Quincy said as he reached for a caramel.“But if I had to guess, I’d say it won’t be long now—it’s just a matter of waiting it out.”52Brandt 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
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