She wondered how to phrase it. He mustn’t resign, because then everything would have been in vain. That would leave him as just another businessman who had turned out to be greedy. And there were plenty of those in the world. Jack’s downfall needed to be far more spectacular than that.

She had to persuade him to stay on. She wanted him to have a long way to fall. And it was as if her mere presence made him more ready to fight. He looked at her with a fresh glint in his eye. In the background Carly Simon’s “Coming Around Again” was playing. She’d always liked that song. That said, her own heart had felt smaller since Jack broke it. As if it had shrunk.

“That all happened over ten years ago,” Jack said. “How can it even be news? I was young and hungry back then. You do what you have to, it’s business. The only thing people care about is results. No one gives a damn about how you do it. But now? It must be envy. People hate anyone who’s successful. They hate people like you and me, Faye. Because we’re smarter than they are.”

Faye didn’t answer. Suddenly they were “we” again. And after all those years of telling her how stupid she was, here he was talking about how intelligent she was. Rage washed over her and she gripped her glass tightly. Jack went on with his tirade. His voice was whiny and he had flushes of red on his neck. She’d never seen that before.

“You can’t get rich in this fucking country if you don’t help yourself. Maybe our methods were a bit rough, but they weren’t fucking illegal. Retirees ought to know how to hold onto their own money, I mean, we’re talking about adults here. Responsible for their own decisions. In this fucking country everything’s always someone else’s fault, someone else has to clean up the mess, someone else has to take the blame. Then the witch hunt starts, even though the only thing you’ve done is build up a successful business, provided jobs for a shitload of people, and contributed to the country’s GDP.”

He shook his head in frustration.

“The big mistake is if you dare to make a few kronor for yourself, because that pisses people off. Communist bastards. Like fuck am I going to let them destroy everything I’ve built up!”

He gulped down the last of the beer Faye had bought him and waved at the bartender for another. Faye looked at him. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. He was behaving like a whiny child who’d had his favorite toy taken away. He wouldn’t last long if he behaved like this in front of the media.

She had to find a way to calm him down. He was going to be roasted slowly, not burned out quickly like a firework.

“Jack,” she said softly, putting her hand on top of his. “I agree with everything you’re saying. But you need to present it in a less aggressive way. Tell them you were young, that you’re different now. Maybe go to one of your old people’s homes and spend a day doing volunteer work. Invite the media. Win back people’s trust.”

She imagined Jack visiting an old people’s home. The reporters would see through him, obviously, and it would make the whole thing far worse. He’d be slaughtered.

But it would draw things out.

“Yes, maybe.”

Jack looked thoughtful. The red blotches on his neck started to fade.

“Think about it, anyway. What is the board saying? Henrik?”

“Naturally they’re worried. But I’ve explained that this will blow over. No one wants me to resign, there’s no one better suited than me.”

He stretched. Despite everything, he remained convinced of his own superiority, his invincibility. She resisted the urge to drive her Jimmy Choo heels into his Gucci shoes. Ugly Gucci shoes at that. He used to dress better when she was his wardrobe adviser. Ylva seemed to want Jack to dress like a Russian oligarch. For each year with Ylva he became less coordinated and more covered in labels.

“No, of course not,” Faye said sweetly. “It’s good that they appreciate that.”

He met her gaze.

“I . . . I’m pleased you had time to meet me. I know I wasn’t always easy to live with. What happened with Ylva . . . that’s just the sort of thing that happens, the sort of thing you can’t help . . .”

He was starting to get a bit drunk, and seemed to be having difficulty focusing.

“She doesn’t understand me the way you do. No one does. No one ever has. I don’t know what I was thinking . . .”

Faye looked down at their interwoven hands.

“I’ve grown up, Faye, I’m more mature. I don’t think I was ready. But now I realize that I made a mistake. It didn’t mean anything, not really. I just wanted . . . everything.”

His voice was pathetic and pleading. He was slurring noticeably. He was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, and it took all of Faye’s self-control not to snatch her hand away. She was so angry that there was a rushing sound in her ears. Why had she never realized how weak he was before now? Why had she refused to see it? And only seen what she wanted to see, filling in the gaps for herself? As if Jack was a huge paint-by-numbers project. An unfinished one.

“Try not to think about that,” she said in a low voice. “It is what it is. The most important thing right now is for you to get through this.”

He looked around.

“It looks the same as it did when we met here that first time. Do you remember?” His face brightened.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I was sitting where you are now, Chris was sitting here.”

Jack nodded. “Imagine if we’d known about all the things we’d go through, the way everything would turn out. I was crazy about you. God, those were the days. Everything was so . . .”

“. . . uncomplicated,” she concluded.

Anger was still roaring in her ears. Shutting out everything except Jack’s saccharine, maudlin voice.

“Yes. Exactly. Uncomplicated.”

A short silence followed, then she cleared her throat.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fight,” Jack said. “I’m going to get through this.”

He squeezed her hand one last time.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Faye said. She only hoped Jack hadn’t noticed the bitter undertone.

Three days had passed and Compare’s share price had dropped to seventy-three kronor. A number of senior business figures had spoken out to say that Jack’s position was becoming untenable. Shareholders were starting to sell their stocks. Jack’s invitations to speak at two seminars were withdrawn. He had given an interview, not to Dagens Industri—the paper which had first released the video—but to Dagens Nyheter. Talking about how highly he valued the older generation. That the whole thing was a complete misunderstanding, the video had been taken out of context, it was so many years ago, it was all a failure of communication, someone was trying to sabotage a successful business.

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

The public hated it. And they hated Jack. The National Retirees’ Association said it was impossible to understand why he hadn’t accepted responsibility and left the company.

But the board declared that they still had confidence in him. As worried as they might be about what would happen if Jack remained CEO, they were even more frightened at the prospect of the company having to survive without him. Jack was Compare. Which was exactly what Faye had been counting on, knowing that would lead to his downfall.

While Chris was having one of her chemo sessions, Faye called her broker in the Isle of Man and asked him to buy ten million kronor worth of shares in Compare. The share price stabilized somewhat when it became clear that not all investors had lost faith in the company. While she was buying up a slice of Compare, she was also giving Jack some breathing space. The calm in the eye of the storm. Before she made her next move.

FJ?LLBACKA—THEN

I PRETENDED TO BE ASLEEP when Sebastian got out of my bed. He moved away cautiously and swung his feet onto the floor. He picked up his socks from the floor and put them on while I kept my eyes closed.

I heard Sebastian open the fridge and cupboards, then pull out a kitchen chair which scraped gently on the wooden floor. A sudden crash made me start and open my eyes. He must have dropped a china dish; in my mind’s eye I could see the fragments and yogurt spread across the kitchen floor. And imagined Sebastian’s panic.

I sat up in bed, aware of what was coming. Dad was a light sleeper. It was a Saturday, and he didn’t want to be woken early. Mom and Dad’s room was on the ground floor, next to Sebastian’s. They had been fighting late into the night and Dad was bound to be exhausted now. I had lain awake listening to the screams and thuds while Sebastian slept soundly with his arm over my chest.

Dad rushed into the kitchen with a roar. I pulled my knees up, wrapped my arms around them, and the darkness began to move inside me. Sebastian’s shrill screams came through the floor, then Mom’s pleading voice. But I knew Mom wouldn’t be able to stop Dad. He needed to vent his anger, needed to hit something, needed the satisfaction of something breaking.

When the screams fell silent I lay down again and pulled the covers over me. The side where Sebastian had been sleeping was still warm.