Asylum

Chapter 49: Contingency Plans

Wednesday afternoon

I was pretty sure I was going to puke right here in the back seat of this unfortunate New York City cab. I cracked the window open to snatch several breaths of what passed for fresh air in New York. It tamped down my immediate nausea, but my stomach still felt like a front-loading washing machine in the middle of the spin cycle.

This morning had been a bizarre kind of torture – Tom had taken me to the first train leaving for the city, and Kristofer had picked me up on the other end and driven me to the law offices of Schreiber & Malone, where I had proceeded to make Jeremy Schreiber truly earn his retainer.

The poor man had set aside the morning to go through Mormor's will with me. But except for a few generous cash settlements on some favorite long-time employees, the document revealed what everyone from the Hellström family to the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, The Financial Times, and Bloomberg had expected: I was Tilda's sole heir, so in truth, the will itself didn't need very much explaining. What had taken up the rest of the a.m. hours, plus the time the lawyer had set aside for a leisurely, commiserative lunch with his new client, was the hurried but thorough drafting of two unexpected but very important bits of legalese: an authorization for Sarah to act as my proxy at Hellström Industries during any instances of my absence, and my own last will and testament.

Jeremy could hardly council a client against writing a will, especially a client with a multinational business empire and the fortune that went with it and no spouse or children or other relatives closer than a couple of first-cousins-once-removed, but he had gamely tried to convince me to put a bit more thought into it, to get used to my new holdings and responsibilities "before making any rash decisions." I had indulged him for a few seconds – after all, he didn't know me yet – and then had proven myself to be Tilda Hellström's granddaughter by steamrolling him into doing exactly what I wanted anyway.

I had smoothed his ruffled feathers at the end of the meeting by assuring him that we would draft a more nuanced document in the near future, but had explained that as an active-duty police officer, it would simply be irresponsible for me to leave his office without some sort of provisions in place.

Kristofer had driven me back to my condo, and I had told him to take the rest of the day off – while my grandmother's aging chauffeur could drive Lärke to her various appointments, he couldn't take me where Lex needed to go. I had bid him farewell with my promise that Sarah would be in touch soon about setting up a new schedule. Sarah herself had been informed of her new role at Hellström Industries and the fact that Kristofer would be acting as her driver until told otherwise, an arrangement I conveyed in an email I had composed and sent from the back seat of the town car.

Those details taken care of, I had grabbed a few essential items from my condo and promptly hailed a cab.

I took another deep, slightly noxious breath of city air. I had never recoiled from any action in my life as much as I shrank from what I was about to do now. I was starting to feel physically sick again when the taxi pulled up outside of Ivan's apartment building. I twitched the hood of my coat closer around my face and slipped on my sunglasses before paying the cabbie and getting out, head down as though avoiding the chilling wind.

It was mid-afternoon, so Sammy was still on duty at the front desk.

"Good afternoon, Ms Bryant," he piped up. I hesitated for a brief instant, noting that the doorman seemed a touch uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the sunglasses.

"Hello, Sammy." I took the shades off and lit up the lobby with the full force of my most sincere fake smile.

The older man swallowed audibly. "Is there something I can help you with today?"

I paused. This was ... odd. "I'm here to see Mr Alkaev," I told him, trying not to sound like I was stating the obvious.

"Oh, yes, well ..." Now Sammy was very clearly, undeniably uncomfortable. "Mr Alkaev isn't here right now."

"I see." I didn't see, but decided to play along. "Well, that's what I get for trying to surprise him!"

Sammy laughed awkwardly. This was not going well. Sammy was clearly thinking that we lovebirds might be having some sort of end-of-relationship problem, and was wondering what information he could give me in his capacity as a professional doorman.

"When did he leave?"

"Um ..." He twisted his head a little, and I was certain that he was making a concerted effort not to slip a loosening finger under his collar. "This morning ... shortly after I got on duty."

"This morning," I repeated. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and pretended to be looking something up to stall for time. My mind raced. Ivan and everyone else associated with Asylum were usually dead asleep between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning, when Sammy started his shift and when he said Ivan had left the building; certainly he couldn't have been doing anything club-related at that hour.

"Ohhhh," I moaned, as if I had just found some illuminating bit of information on my calendar. "Did they have luggage with them?" I asked, my voice clearly suggesting I already knew the answer to this silly question.

Sammy's relief was almost comically palpable. "They were carrying a few bags with them, yes, miss."

I shook my head in mock consternation. "I don't know why I have it in here that he was leaving tomorrow." I shrugged and gave him another winning smile. "Well, I guess I have an afternoon to myself for a change. Sammy, would you mind hailing me another cab?"

"Certainly, Ms Bryant." He hustled out the door, whistle at his lips, and immediately began craning his neck to look down the street.

I began tapping away at my phone in earnest. What did everyone do before smartphones and the internet? I had no idea how people ran their lives before them.

"Ms Bryant?"

I looked up to see Sammy holding the lobby door open for me as a weather-speckled taxi idled at the curb. I put my sunglasses back on, though with Ivan gone, there was little chance that the OCCB was currently watching the building.

"Thank you, Sammy," I purred, as he scurried to get the door to the cab for me. "See you soon."

"Yes, Ms Bryant, you're very welcome."

I pulled the door shut and settled into the vinyl seat cushion.

"LaGuardia, please. Quickly."