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.
TheRyktesspegelnwill 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 forRyktesspegelnandSanningens Ögonblick. Both need to be printed as in the update. Did you prepare them that way?"
"I don't know. Frön 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.
