Wonderful.
How high up was P1? Was it on the moon? This was the longest elevator ride in the history of elevators, and Seymour was ready to chew his way through the doors to get there faster. Sweat beaded on his brow, his heart still fluttering with the adrenaline lingering from the utter insanity of the last thirty minutes.
The only thing he could think to do to not start screaming hysterically was to focus on his current task—seeing this lawyer so he could get the hell out of Somerstown.
Finally, another ding signaled the elevator’s arrival.
The clerk ushered Seymour to an office that could have had its own swimming pool. There were giant windows that offered an impressive view of the city, a space for lounging with fancy furniture nestled beside a giant fireplace, and behind a mammoth wooden desk was a floor-to-ceiling display of over a dozen flat screens.
The space was punctuated with glass display cases that held vases, coins, and other artifacts. There was also a giant stone mural mounted beside the windows that appeared to have been plucked right off the wall of some ancient temple, depicting a bunch of naked men swarmed around another naked man who had big wings.
They were doing something with the man’s ankle, but Seymour didn’t have a clue as to what.
Yup.
Definitely not touching shit in here either.
There was an older man seated at the desk, staring off into space as the screens behind him blipped and blooped with countless rows of rotating numbers. The displays went black, and only then did the man rise to his feet with a friendly grin. His navy suit was pressed to perfection, his smile unnaturally white and sharp like a shark’s, and his watch alone had to be worth enough to be the down payment on a private island.
His skin was a rich shade of bronze, his dark hair streaked with silver at his temples, and his eyes were an eerily bright shade of blue. He was too perfect, too clean, and even the way he moved had an alien grace Seymour couldn’t explain.
Definitely creepy though.
“Seymour Madison!” the man greeted in a deep, smooth voice. “Welcome, welcome! Come on down!”
A game show host, that’s what it was.
The man reminded Seymour of a game show host.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Seymour offered his hand to shake, and he tipped his head down politely, as he had quite an advantage in height. “You must be Mr. Talos.”
“I am indeed. Please! Sit!” Talos gestured to a plush chair in front of his desk. He flashed the clerk another big, sharky smile. “Go on. I can see Mr. Madison out myself. Unless—” He lookedto Seymour. “Would you like anything to drink? Eat? We have a private chef. Can whip up anything your heart desires.”
“No, I’m okay. If it’s all the same, I’d rather get to it and get goin’, sir.”
“Okay!” Talos grinned, and his face jerked a little as he turned to head back to his desk. He sat and reached into one of the drawers, saying, “Let’s cut to brass tacks, shall we? Your father, Clancy Carver, enlisted me to ensure that his last wishes were followed to the letter. For you, that entailed putting this box here in your hands.”
Said box was placed on the desk, and it was rather small and plain.
“Oh. Uh, okay.” Seymour had no idea what he had been expecting, but the box before him was barely big enough to hold a pack of cigarettes.
The screens behind Talos flashed back to life, showing a scanned document. “I, Thaddeus Clancy Carver, being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament,” Talos read dutifully, though he wasn’t looking at the screens. “I leave all my worldly and other assets to my one living child and only heir, Leslie Seymour Madison.”
“Okay.” Seymour cautiously opened the box and found a key inside. It was silver, modern, no different from his own house keys. “What am I looking at?”
“I do believe it’s what people refer to as akey.”
Smartass.
“Yeah, but to what?” Seymour frowned. “His will don’t say anything else? Nothin’?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Talos frowned deeply, and Seymour half expected a buzzer to ring. “His only instructions were to see to it that you receive this box and its contents personally.” He paused. “Oh, and the three million dollars in a private trust.”
“Three mill—what?”
“Three million dollars in a private trust,” Talos repeated.
“Wow! Uh, okay! Holy shit!” Seymour laughed as he hooked the key beside his truck key. “I can pay off my damn student loans! My house! Hell, I can buy a whole new one!”
