<div class="floatleft"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><div align="center">(https://files.catbox.moe/k872lq.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><strong>Calvin Luther</strong></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Adam<br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: overline;">           </span></span></span></div></td><td>(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4d/AlTeregoSeparator.png)</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br/>The trip has been a whirlwind, with my mind halfway between constantly looking over my shoulder and dreaming of what is ahead. I didn't see anyone, but I suppose that doesn't mean everything. The flight via Amsterdam arrived 45 minutes earlier than my original itinerary, so I took that as a good omen and left the airport as soon as I could.<br/><br/>I spend the time in between establishing residence in a hotel off Bryant Park, purchasing clothes to replace the luggage I'd abandoned, and getting new ID.  It was a simple joy to see the name Adam upon my new documentation.<br/><br/>I arrive at the offices of the soon-to-be former Jaclyn Rosendahl Enterprises about an hour early and stake out the lobby from a care across the street.  I don't see anyone suspicious at all, and I therefore breathe a sigh of relief when I notice Amanda arriving.  I toss the rest of my coffee in the trash and head across the street to meet her.<br/><br/>"Forgive me for being out of touch, Amanda," I say, announcing myself. "But I needed to dump my old phone.  I suspected it was trackable."