“No,” Martin said. “I tried to find shortcuts, but they only led to dead ends.”

“And now?”

“As I said, sometimes you fall back into old habits, but now I’ve found a new drug. The best one of all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Love.”

Mia felt the warmth of his breath. It made her nauseous.

“Great,” Henrik said.

“Love is wonderful. The most wonderful thing we have.”

Mia felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t listen to any more of this.

“Okay,” Henrik said, with an expression that said he wasn’t sure if this man was messing with him or not. “We won’t keep you any longer. If you hear or see anything about The Old Man, you’ll let us know, right?”

“Of course I will. If for nothing else than your sake, Mia.”

Mia didn’t say anything as they walked back to the car. She couldn’t think, could only kick the snow to vent her irritation and anger. She was angry at the cold evening, her worn boots and tight jeans, angry at everything that bothered her, at everything ugly and excessive.

She put her seat belt on and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at Henrik.

“Martin and I... We...” she began.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said.

“Good. Because I’m not going to be seeing him again. Ever.”

* * *

The guests’ conversations around the large dinner table drowned each other out. Karl Berzelius raised his glass, but no one heard what he said.

“Cheers to a pleasant evening,” he repeated, tasting the wine. He signaled the two young female servers to open another bottle of Clos Saint Jean Deus Ex Machina, but they didn’t notice him snapping his fingers. Instead, they disappeared out of the hall with their serving platters on their shoulders.

Karl turned toward Margaretha, who was talking with the man sitting next to her. She had left her silverware resting on her plate, where the venison had hardly been touched. He attempted to get her attention so that she might call the servers back, but the conversation clearly required all of her attention.

“I must congratulate you...” a voice came from the other side of the table.

Karl raised his eyes and saw Herman Kanterberg raise his glass in his direction. Karl was swirling the wine in his glass, breathing in.

“You must be so proud!” Herman said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your daughter’s successes.”

Karl took his cloth napkin and slowly dabbed the corners of his mouth.

“Does she have the same ambitions you had?”

“I can’t speak for her.”

“If she continues at the same rate, she could become Prosecutor-General.” Herman turned his head toward the other guests, lifted his glass and nodded. “Cheers to hard work, my friends. It is the only path to success. There are no shortcuts.”

“Hear, hear!” came a shout.

“Cheers!” came another.

The glasses clinked over the table.