“And if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, would you then base a story on such one-sided, amateurish research, or would you back up your conclusions with facts?” He held his palms up to illustrate the two options he was presenting her with.

Heloise wanted to reach across the table and strangle him with his slim, curry-colored tie. Instead, she licked her lips calmly.

“Obviously, I’ll strive to practice due diligence in the future. No one wants a repeat of this meeting any less than I do.” She flashed what was supposed to be a smile across the table.

“Right. Well, that’s that, then!” The editor in chief signaled from the end of the table with a contented clap of his hands that he had heard what he needed to hear.

In contrast to Karen Aagaard, Heloise wasn’t surprised at Mikkelsen’s uncharacteristic leniency. A few months earlier, after a long day at work, she had been strolling along the harbor front, wanting to cross Palace Square and pass the Marble Church on her way home. It had been one of the first light, warm evenings of the summer, and she had been halfway through the Amalie Garden when she noticed them.

In the darkest corner of the garden, half-hidden behind a big cherry tree, the editor in chief had been sitting on a bench in a passionate embrace with a dark-haired woman who was young and quite pretty—and definitely not his wife.

The sound of Heloise’s footsteps had made him look up and their eyes had met briefly, before Heloise looked away and left the garden. But she knew what she had seen, and he knew that she knew.

If her job was in jeopardy, Mikkelsen would tip the scales in her favor.

“Yes, I don’t have any further questions either,” The Shovel said, slamming his file shut. “Oh, wait, by the way. I do have one more thing. The source who gave you the documents—that wouldn’t happen to have been Martin Duvall, head of communications at the Ministry of Commerce, would it?”

Heloise sat very still in her chair.

A hint of a smile began to form at the corner of The Shovel’s mouth.

“Like I said, I can’t reveal my source,” Heloise said. “I’m sure that you, as the upholder of good press ethics, can understand that better than anyone.”

“In that case, let me ask you this.” He took off his reading glasses, folded the temples carefully, and placed the spectacles on the table in front of him. “What is your personal relationship with Mr. Duvall?”

Heloise opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She turned her head and looked at Mikkelsen, and before she’d had time to answer, he stood up. His eyes were suddenly black with anger, and a blood vessel bulged on his forehead.