Blomkvist was about to open his mouth when Berger put her hand on his knee.
“Mikael and I have fought hard so that we could be completely independent.”
“Nonsense. No-one is completely independent. But I’m not out to take over the
magazine, and I don’t give a damn about the contents. That bastard Stenbeck got
all sorts of points for publishing Modern Times, so why can’t I back Millennium?
Which happens to be an excellent magazine, by the way.”
“Does this have anything to do with Wennerström?” Blomkvist said.
Vanger smiled. “Mikael, I’m eighty years plus. There are things I regret not doing
and people I regret not fighting more. But, apropos this topic—” He turned to
Berger again. “This type of investment would have at least one condition.”
“Let’s hear it,” Berger said.
“Mikael Blomkvist must resume his position as publisher.”
“No,” Blomkvist snapped.
“But yes,” Vanger said, equally curt. “Wennerström will have a stroke if we send out
a press release saying that the Vanger Corporation is backing Millennium, and at
the same time you’re returning as publisher. That’s absolutely the clearest signal
we could send—everyone will understand that it’s not a takeover and that the
editorial policies won’t change. And that alone will give the advertisers who are
thinking of pulling out reason to reconsider. Wennerström isn’t omnipotent. He has
enemies too, and there are companies new to you that will consider taking space.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Blomkvist said as soon as Berger pulled the front
door shut.
“I think it’s what you call advance probes for a business deal,” she said. “You didn’t
tell me that Henrik Vanger is such a sweetie.”
Blomkvist planted himself in front of her. “Ricky, you knew exactly what this
conversation was going to be about.”
“Hey, toy boy. It’s only 3:00, and I want to be properly entertained before dinner.”