“Contracts exist to be honoured. I work for Henrik. Henrik and I have been friends
for forty-five years, and we are in complete agreement in such matters. If Henrik
should die it is in point of fact I—not Martin—who would inherit Henrik’s share in
the subsidiary. We have a contract in which we have undertaken to
back Millennium for three years. Should Martin wish to start any mischief—which I
don’t believe he will—then theoretically he could put the brakes on a small
number of new advertisers.”
“The lifeblood of Millennium’s existence.”
“Yes, but look at it this way—worrying about such trivia is a waste of time. Martin is
presently fighting for his industrial survival and working fourteen hours a day. He
doesn’t have time for anything else.”
“May I ask—I know it’s none of my business—what is the general condition of the
corporation?”
Frode looked grave.
“We have problems.”
“Yes, even a common financial reporter like myself can see that. I mean, how
serious is it?”
“Off the record?”
“Between us.”
“We’ve lost two large orders in the electronics industry in the past few weeks and
are about to be ejected from the Russian market. In September we’re going to have
to lay off 1,600 employees in Örebro and Trollhättan. Not much of a reward to give
to people who’ve worked for the company for many years. Each time we shut down
a factory, confidence in the company is further undermined.”
“Martin is under pressure.”
“He’s pulling the load of an ox and walking on eggshells.”