Free A Shared Confidence by William Topek

Dad’s slightly eccentric friends and neighbors, instilled in my brother a strong desire for a more solid, stable life. Me, I kind of like moving onto someplace new before I get tired of where I’m at, meeting interesting people here and there. And I’ve never been able to say with any degree of certainty what I’ll be doing the following year. There was never any bad blood between Nathan and me; we’re just different people. And our parents loved us both the same (which, I always suspected, rankled Nathan at times, their failing to take a stronger parental pride in his more stalwart nature).
    I finished eating, washed and rinsed the dishes, then took the steel lid off the percolator and spooned in some coffee. Once the boiling and bubbling started, I went to fetch a cup, noting the time on the kitchen clock. I wanted to wait to call Nathan until I was sure they’d had dinner and the kids were likely in bed, though not past what I guessed Nathan’s own bedtime to be (which probably didn’t give me a very large window). Eight o’clock should do it; it’d be nine in Baltimore.
    When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and took it into the living room, turning on the radio and listening to the news for a few minutes. A commentator was throwing in his two cents about Hitler re-arming Germany in direct violation of the Treaty at Versailles and how we couldn’t let him get away with it. So what do we do about it, pal? I wondered. Start another war? Peace treaties are basically agreements where the losing side is forced to agree. It’s no great surprise that the coerced will try to break that agreement as soon as they’re able. Unless you’re ready to force their hand, it comes down to a game of “Or else what?” Historians will tell you that the end of each war seems to lead into the next, and I have no doubt they’re right. I just hope I’m too old to serve before the next one breaks out.
    I switched off the radio, picked up the novel I was reading, and sat down on the divan. After thirty pages and two cigarettes, I refilled my coffee cup and picked up the telephone. I gave the exchange and waited while the long-distance operator connected me.
    â€œCaine residence. Nathan Caine speaking.” I almost mouthed it with him, then let the operator announce me.
    â€œHello, Nathan.”
    â€œDev! Thank you for calling. You got my telegram?” We were both speaking loudly through the thousand miles of copper wire, pausing for the delays so as not to talk over one another.
    â€œYes, I got it this morning. What’s up?”
    â€œTo tell you the truth, I’m not quite certain where to start.” This wasn’t the Nathan I knew. Must be a hell of a problem.
    â€œJust pick a place and jump in,” I advised. “I’ll stop you if I need to.”
    Nathan informed me that he’d received an important promotion last November. He was now Vice President of the department that oversaw loans to small businesses. We were being charged by the minute for this conversation, but Nathan still graciously allowed a brief pause so I could congratulate him. He went on to explain that earlier this week he’d been going over the books on various loans open in his department and was having a difficult time getting the numbers to balance. After starting over and going through them several different ways, he was forced to acknowledge that some money was missing. A lot of money.
    â€œI see.” I could sense Nathan didn’t want to use a word like “embezzlement” on the telephone so I tried to avoid it as well. “You think maybe someone who works there…?”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s the only possible explanation.”
    â€œI see,” I repeated uselessly. What I couldn’t see is why this wasn’t a matter for his superiors at the bank, perhaps even for the police, rather than a private detective who