_There Are Things I Want You to Know_ About Stieg Larsson and Me - Eva Gabrielsson [48]
Tuesday, April 5
THIS AFTERNOON I sent an email to Joakim to tell him that after calling the tax authorities to ask for an extension regarding filing the estate taxes, I’d been given until June 16. Anything longer than that would have had to be requested in writing. I also explained to Joakim that I hadn’t yet dared face sorting through Stieg’s papers, but that all the receipts would still have to be found.
I added that I was intending to ask for help from the guy in charge of accounting where Stieg worked, because the receipts to be used as deductions had to be separated from the ones representing expenses for which he’d already been reimbursed. Since the accountant had already helped him with his previous tax returns, he’d be familiar with the problem.
I also shared with Joakim the fact that I was seeing my therapist every two weeks, which I definitely felt was a good thing, because as he said himself, that’s how you can learn to know yourself better. Which was perhaps vital right now, when I no longer much knew who I was.
I added that I wasn’t very strong these days and sometimes had to stay home from work. And that I missed Stieg unspeakably, but I knew he wanted me to keep going and not give up on everything he’d begun. Easy to say, but so hard to do, after losing half of myself.
I closed by asking him to say hello to Maj for me, to take care of himself and not overwork, because he shouldn’t end up like Stieg just because, like Stieg, he couldn’t bring himself to say “no.”
I received no reply to my email. One month later, I understood why.
Monday, May 9
THIS MORNING I received a letter from the tax authorities marked “For your information.” I am thereby informed that, regarding the inventory of Stieg’s assets and the distribution of his estate sent to them on April 14 by Joakim and Erland, everything goes to them—including Stieg’s half of our apartment. They’re giving Joakim’s children 100,000 kronor each ($15,000) from the advance offered by Norstedts and are leaving me the furniture, valued at 1,200 kronor (less than $200)! Then I remembered that on April 13, when I’d phoned Erland to find out what was happening, he’d said he had no idea and that I ought to call Joakim instead, because he was the one taking care of everything. Erland was cold and distant. The next day, the two of them sent the inheritors’ division of the estate off to the tax authorities.
What an insult to Stieg! To his life, to our life for thirty-two years! I’m wracked with anger, outrage, panic, and despair. If Erland and Joakim demand Stieg’s half of the apartment from me, I couldn’t afford to buy it from them. Where will I go?
Before taking the train to Falun, I called Per-Erik Nilsson to tell him about this infamous “For your information.” So far, he hadn’t done a thing for me! But he promised me he would now intervene on my behalf.
Saturday, May 14
I PHONE Svante Weyler to let him know that while filing some papers, I’d finally found the original contract Stieg signed, a document Weyler had been pestering me about back in December. Strangely, though, it no longer interests him at all. He even says something unbelievable to me: that the best solution would have been for Norstedts to manage Stieg’s literary legacy.
IN THE days that follow, my sister Britt calls me. She wants me to authorize her to speak to Erland about that letter from the tax authorities. When I won’t allow her to get involved, she finally blurts out, “Eva, I know something you don’t and that I didn’t want to tell you earlier, because you were in no condition to hear it.” On the evening of Stieg’s funeral service, on December 10, 2004, someone came over to Britt to tell her, “Watch out, they’ve already talked about taking it all.” I stand there, paralyzed, clutching my cell phone. So everything had already been decided.
Britt did try to talk to Erland. He told her that I was mentally ill. The proof?