“How many are in the office today?”
“Well, about half.”
“Can you call a meeting for 2:00? Don’t say what it’s about. I’m coming over.”
There were six people around the conference table. Malm looked tired. Cortez
looked like someone newly in love, the way that only twenty-four-year-olds can
look. Nilsson looked on edge—Malm had not told anyone what the meeting was
about, but she had been with the company long enough to know that something
out of the ordinary was going on, and she was annoyed that she had been kept out
of the loop. The only one who looked the same as usual was the part-timer Ingela
Oskarsson, who worked two days a week dealing with simple administrative tasks,
the subscriber list and the like; she had not looked truly relaxed since she became a
mother two years ago. The other part-timer was the freelance reporter Lotta Karim,
who had a contract similar to Cortez’s and had just started back to work after her
holiday. Malm had also managed to get Magnusson to come in, although he was
still on holiday.
Blomkvist began by greeting everyone warmly and apologising for being so long
absent.
“What we’re going to discuss today is something that Christer and I haven’t taken
up with Erika, but I can assure you that in this case I speak for her too. Today we’re
going to determine Millennium’s future.”
He paused to let the words sink in. No-one asked any questions.
“The past year has been rough. I’m surprised and proud that none of you has
reconsidered and found a job somewhere else. I have to assume that either you’re
stark raving mad or wonderfully loyal and actually enjoy working on this magazine.
That’s why I’m going to lay the cards on the table and ask you for one last effort.”
“One last effort?” Nilsson said. “That sounds as if you’re thinking of shutting down
the magazine.”
“Exactly, Monika,” Blomkvist said. “And thank you for that. When she gets back Erika
is going to gather us all together for a gloomy editorial meeting and to tell us
that Millennium will fold at Christmas and that you’re all fired.”