but might also have applied to sexual prowess. Vanger tilted his head back and
roared with laughter.
Blomkvist was astonished. He had never seen Vanger so natural and relaxed. He
could suddenly see that Vanger, fifty years younger—or even thirty years—must
have been quite a charming, attractive ladies’ man. He had never remarried. There
must have been women who crossed his path, yet for nearly half a century he had
remained a bachelor.
Blomkvist took a sip of coffee and pricked up his ears again when he realised that
the conversation had suddenly turned serious and had to do with Millennium.
“Mikael has told me that you’re having problems at the magazine.” Berger glanced
at Blomkvist. “No, he hasn’t discussed your internal operations, but a person would
have to be deaf and blind not to see that your magazine, just like the Vanger
Corporation, is in difficulties.”
“I’m confident that we can repair the situation,” Berger said.
“I doubt it,” Vanger said.
“Why is that?”
“Let’s see—how many employees do you have? Six? A monthly magazine with a
print run of 21,000, manufacturing costs, salaries, distribution, offices...You need
revenues of about 10 million. I think we know what percentage of that amount has
to come from advertising revenue.”
“So?”
“So friend Wennerström is a vengeful and narrow-minded bastard who isn’t going
to forget his recent contretemps in a hurry. How many advertisers have you lost in
the past six months?”
Berger regarded Vanger with a wary expression. Blomkvist caught himself holding
his breath. On those occasions when he and the old man had touched on the
future of Millennium, it had always concerned annoying remarks or the magazine’s
situation in relation to Blomkvist’s ability to finish his work in Hedestad. But Vanger
was now addressing Erika alone, one boss to another. Signals passed between
them that Blomkvist could not interpret, which might have had to do with the fact