Chapter 14
Kjell
Jakob positions himself at the minimalist kitchenette in our newsroom.
"So the old Blohm is in the ICU, and you suspect he's in a life-threatening condition," he says, leaning the back of his head against the white lacquered upper cabinets. "That's all? You haven't found out more?"
"I had less than forty-eight hours." I yawn and take an espresso cup from the cabinet, placing it on the coffee machine. The sleepless night in Milan still weighs on me, and even last night, I barely got any rest. My last conversation with Sky haunts me. She acted as though I wasn't even there during the flight back to Stockholm.
Stop.
That doesn't matter. I don't care about her.
The old Sky is the real one , I remind myself not for the first time.
"You managed to cover the revelation story about the abuses at the parcel delivery services in one morning," he observes, pretending to search for something in my expression.
Thinking about Sky's abrupt farewell and the coldness she brought with her, I press a button on the coffee machine. It hums to life, filling the room with the aroma of rich coffee. "My sources were much more talkative then," I reply as the machine drips the first few drops.
"And since when have you had trouble getting the truth out of someone?"
Jakob seems surprised. He turns to face me. "Usually, you just have to look at people to see what's going on with them."
Yes, that's true, but with Sky, it's different, and I don't know why. She's so... everything and nothing at the same time. Even though I didn't want to think about her anymore, her image passes through my mind again. I see her frightened gaze. Slowly, her expression changes, becoming tender and gentle.
So pure. So real.
Apparently embarrassed, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyelids flutter, and then she fixates me with an intensity that takes my breath away. Her eyes light up, and her red curls play around her cheeks.
"Fuck, what's going on with you?" Someone bumps into me, pushing me aside.
Jakob.
He squeezes in at the coffee machine. My cup is there, and coffee spills over.
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I'm exhausted, sorry."
He stops the machine and grabs three paper napkins from the holder. "You're completely off your game," he corrects me with a concerned tone, pressing the paper towels into the coffee puddle spreading on the kitchen counter.
"Could be." Even though he's exaggerating, he's probably right to some extent. I take the brimming cup and carefully bring it to my lips. "This family just occupies my mind." Yes, that's it. That's why I feel like I can't let go of Sky. "They have a secret, I'm sure of it."
That's it. My constant thoughts about her have nothing to do with Sky herself. It's my journalistic instinct telling me to stay on top of it.
Jakob disposes of the soaked napkins in the trash can. "Tell me more."
I place my coffee on a saucer, walk over to the bistro table, and begin to share what I've found so far.
Jakob comes over with a glass of water. "Okay. What's next?"
"She might be trying to take over the company. What do you think the empire is worth?" I ask Jakob, grabbing a spoon from the container on the table.
He shrugs. "It must be millions. Maybe hundreds of millions."
What if Sky is really after the company?
No. That's not like her.
Or is it?
"How about this for a headline: Long-lost daughter exploits father's weakness to claim her inheritance ." Jakob's enthusiasm doesn't seem genuine, but it still makes me flinch inwardly.
We can't do that to Sky.
No. I meant that it's probably not the whole truth. Half-truths aren't enough.
I raise my hand. "Too much hearsay. It's not enough for an article."
Jakob taps his fingers thoughtfully on the wooden table. "What if we frame the headline as a question? That way, no one can accuse us of anything."
"No, we won't do that!" As serious journalists, our professional ethics are already compromised enough.
"Why are you so shocked?" His forehead turns into a series of craters. "I thought we were on the same page," he adds, sounding disheartened.
"Yes, we were," I admit because I stand by my word. "But..."
Sweat beads form on his temples. "You promised, and so far, I've written every article for the first issue of Ryktesspegeln ."
"Oh God, that name." The Mirror of Rumors . I'll never get used to it. Dreadful.
Now, his expression turns worried. "If we don't hurry up, we'll have to file for bankruptcy. Do you want that?"
"Never, dammit." Nevertheless, just writing a sensationalist article like that feels wrong.
"Then what's the problem?" he asks in such a harsh tone that I don't even need to look at him to know he's swallowing hard.
There's no problem. Not really.
But somehow, there is.
With trembling fingers, he places his cup back down. "What happened in Milan?"
"Nothing," I reply much too quickly, as if he caught me in something.
What's wrong with me? That's a fact. Nothing happened. I have no reason to feel guilty.
I exhale, trying to regain control. "I just think we're shooting our load too quickly if we go public with this now."
Yes, that's exactly it.
"Because you believe there's more to it," Jakob continues my thought. "And you suspect that if you dig deeper, you'll find a much better story."
"I find that very likely," I answer, speaking the truth even though it feels wrong.
"Good." He steps closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Then get us something that will put us back on track. Please, Kjell, it's important."
As if I didn't already know that. I want to respond with that, but a glance at his pained face makes me hold my tongue.
"Today is Saturday, a perfect day to do something with the girl and get some information out of her." Extracting information sounds...
I nod with great effort. At the same time, I sort through my thoughts in search of something to hold on to.
If I go to her, I'll get the chance to find out who Sky really is. And once I have my answers, this confusing feeling she stirs in me will also disappear.
Yes. That's it.
"I have to go, unfortunately. Merle and I have another appointment." He lifts the corners of his mouth into a forced smile. "Have a nice afternoon." His hand on my shoulder becomes heavier. "And don't forget, everyone lies."
"Yes," I murmur, aware that those aren't his words but my own.
No, they're more than just words.
It's a truth that I must never lose sight of, no matter what happens.