Chapter 46
Kjell
Yesterday, I sent the email to the printing house, and I still haven't received confirmation that they've made the changes.
The Ryktesspegeln will be printed in three hours.
For what feels like the hundredth time, I call the printing house. Once again, no one answers.
"What the hell is going on?" I mutter even though no one can hear me in my living room. They have my number; we've coordinated last-minute changes often enough.
I toss my phone onto the couch.
"Alright, then we'll do it differently." With clenched fists, I make my way to the hallway, put on my jacket and shoes, and leave the apartment.
They can ignore my emails and reject my calls, but they can't pretend not to see me when I'm right in front of them.
I don't have time for the tram, so I call a taxi that takes me to the industrial area on the outskirts of town. Despite that, it takes too long due to heavy traffic until we finally arrive.
Even though I only have to climb the stairs to a single floor, my heart races as I enter the unadorned reception area of the printing house. The scent of ink and paper wafts toward me, and I hear the printing presses at work in the background. The woman behind the counter looks up at me and greets me. Thin gold chains dangle from her glasses to her neck, swaying gently.
"I need to speak with the production manager," I say after greeting her. "It's urgent."
"Unfortunately, he's not here," she replies, smiling with her dark red lips. "Lunch break."
My fingers grip the sleeves of my jacket. "Then his substitute."
She shrugs and raises her eyebrows. "He's sick."
Oh, come on! I barely restrain myself from cursing.
"Is Ragnar here?" Please say yes. Please.
She nods toward the glass door leading to the office of the CEO. "He has an important meeting in five minutes."
That's enough for me. Determined, I walk to the door and knock briefly. Without waiting for a response, I enter the stuffy room, dimly lit by half-open blinds.
"Kjell!" Ragnar's mouth forms a wry smile. "What can I do for you?"
"I've been trying to reach you since yesterday," I say, getting straight to the point.
About half an hour before the printing slot, the data for the issue must be prepared. That's in—my gaze flicks to my wristwatch— one hour. Achievable if we act now.
He pushes his lower lip forward. "But not with me, right?"
Seriously? "About fifty times, Ragnar," I reply, frustrated.
With a long sigh, he rises from his leather chair. "I'm sorry; it's been so hectic. I can't keep up."
"It's quick. There's just one thing I need to know." I stand in his way. "Yesterday, I sent new typesetting files for Ryktesspegeln and Sanningens ?gonblick . Both need to be printed as in the update. Did you prepare them that way?"
"I don't know. Fr?n is handling the typesetting." He looks around his cluttered desk, then gathers some documents. "I need to go."
He almost manages to pass me, but I grab his forearm. "And you approve everything."
"Um..." I can see he's genuinely trying to remember. "Listen, I can't recall anymore, honestly. We had so many last-minute changes, and some of the staff is sick. I've been busy rearranging the printing slots to avoid total chaos."
I feel a rush of heat and cold at the same time. "Rearranging the printing slots?" Anxiously, I hold Ragnar's arm to prevent him from escaping.
What if our slot was changed too? What if the newspapers are already printed?
"Do we have a new one too?" I ask in a panic.
"It's possible," he replies, stressed. "The plan is on my desk; you can check for yourself. I'm really needed elsewhere now." He breaks free from my grip, adjusts his jacket, and disappears through the door.
I hurry to his desk, where the production plan lies on top. I quickly run my finger over the machine assignments.
The Ryktesspegeln is on there, but Sanningens ?gonblick isn't. Immediately, I understand what this means. The changes were not implemented.
"Damn," I mutter as I search for the timeline on the production plan—and seconds later, I freeze.
Our slot begins in five minutes!
I dash out of Ragnar's office in a flash, rushing past the receptionist who's shouting something at me.
"Ragnar didn't have time," I reply and charge toward the entrance of the production office. "I'm supposed to handle it myself."
The receptionist might say something, perhaps even explain that visitors aren't allowed in the production area, but I don't care.
I fling the door open and storm into the hall, where five printing presses clatter away with deafening noise. The smell of ink and machine oil is overwhelming, and it's hot and stuffy.
My head is on the verge of exploding from excitement, fear, and the question of how I'll manage to turn things around within—once again, I check the clock: three minutes!
Scanning the area, I look around. Back there, by the smaller machine, is an employee. I start waving to get his attention as I approach.
"Ragnar sent me!" I yell over the noise when I reach him. "We need to go over the Ryktesspegeln's printing data again. Also, the edition needs to be split."
He grimaces. "Too late. It's already loaded."
A wave of nausea washes over me. "Then we need to change it," I reply sternly.
"Pfff," the employee scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's always the same here."
He's doing it?
"Where's the new file?" he asks. "And what do you mean by splitting the edition?"
He's doing it!
"I sent it by email," I reply, wiping sweat from my forehead. Only now do I realize that I've been feeling like I've held my breath for hours. Finally, I exhale.
Done.
My heart rate calms down. My muscles feel heavy, and so do my eyelids.
He signals for me to follow and shuffles to the back of the hall, where a small office is filled with newspapers and magazines piled on shelves along the walls.
We swap the article and input the data for Sanningens ?gonblick .
"We'll print the special edition first," I say to the production worker.
He shrugs. "It's the same format anyway."
Finally, something goes smoothly. I wait as the first newspapers roll off the press. I can't sit still because adrenaline floods my body again.
This was just the first part of the plan. The easier part.
What lies ahead is much more challenging. Sky has to read Sanningens ?gonblick , and I can't leave that to chance.
At least I know exactly where to find her.
She’ll be at the selection show for Chloe Morrigan's Oscar dress. Since it was her idea to enter the competition, she's guaranteed to be there.
And I'll be there too, with a freshly printed stack of the best edition of Sanningens ?gonblick ever.