Silver Tears(80)

“Given that your biggest investor in the acquisition of Revenge—by far—was Sten Stolpe, I don’t think I’d be so sure about that.”

“Sten is one of my oldest friends and one of my most loyal clients and business partners. I think I can say with certainty he’ll back me up unconditionally.”

Henrik’s voice was dripping with contempt. Alice had been studying her nails carefully throughout the discussion, but now she said casually: “You should probably check your phone. Something tells me Sten is trying to get hold of you…”

“What the hell?”

Henrik picked up his briefcase and pulled his phone out of it. Faye craned her neck to see the display. Then she turned to Ylva and Alice.

“Oh my, Henrik has apparently got forty-three missed calls and rather a lot of messages from Sten. I wonder what on earth he can want? He seems very eager to get hold of you…”

Henrik opened one message after another from Sten and the color drained from his face.

“What the hell have you done, Alice?”

Alice looked at him with innocent blue eyes.

“Me? I haven’t done a thing. By coincidence, my phone was stolen yesterday, and I reported it to the police. You’ve got to do these things properly. And I have no idea what someone might have found on it and sent to Sten. Of course, it might just happen to be a video of you fucking his underage daughter—and our au pair—but what do I know? Like I said, my phone was stolen yesterday. Did I mention that I reported it to the police?”

Henrik roared and lunged toward Alice. But Ylva stuck out a foot and he fell headlong to the floor.



He lay there shouting and waving his arms at them.

The three women left, but Faye turned around in the doorway.

“I’d like your signature by tonight confirming the sale of Revenge back to me. The papers are at the bottom of that stack, under the contracts.”

After they’d closed the door behind them, they could still hear him cursing.





FJ?LLBACKA—THEN

Mom had been easily persuaded. It was as if she were in a fog after Sebastian’s death, and Dad took out all of his grief and frustration on her. With each passing month, his madness became even worse. When I pressed down the front door handle after school, I would hold my breath. The first thing I always did was to call out for Mom, and every day I was terrified I wouldn’t get an answer. I heard the cries and saw the black eyes, and, worse, I was forced to witness Mom fading away more and more. She barely ate any longer. I tried to coax her to eat something. I took over the cooking and learned the dishes that Mom loved. Sometimes she would take a couple of bites, but mostly she would just stare hollow-eyed at the plate.

I knew she was dying before my very eyes. I had always thought that Mom would die when Dad finally went too far in his desire to hurt her. But as the months passed, I realized she would die from a lack of hope. She could see no end. She could see no way out. I had wanted to free her through Sebastian’s death—to save her from being crushed by the weight of our secrets. Instead, I was killing her, slowly but surely.

Every day, I pictured that time I had found her after she’d taken the sleeping pills. I pictured how I’d stuck my fingers down her throat and forced her to vomit. I had saved her then. But I was killing her now. I had to do something. I had to give her hope. A way out.



Once I’d made up my mind, I began to plan.

It hurt so much having to wait, having to be patient, while I saw Mom bloodied and bruised more and more often. But I knew that if I didn’t help her get away for good, she would soon be dead. And I wouldn’t be able to live with that.

Dad also needed to take his punishment. For what he had done to us, what he had taught Sebastian, the fear that he had forced us to live through.

There was only one person I knew could help me. Mom’s brother. Dad didn’t like Uncle Egil. Letting any outsider into the house was always a risk for him. A risk he didn’t want to take. So to me, Uncle Egil was just a distant memory. But Mom often talked about him. And I realized that he would do anything for her.

Mom had his number in a tatty little contacts book hidden at the bottom of her underwear drawer. I didn’t include her in any aspect of the planning. I looked at her glassy stare and I just wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, but it also told me that I had to be the grown-up now and take care of her. For the first time in my life, I was the adult and she was the child.

She was light as a bird, fragile, frail, and with every passing day she grew frailer. I called Uncle Egil in secret from school when the school phone was left unattended for a while in the office. It was important for me not to leave any trace. I told him what I needed and he immediately promised to help. Unconditionally. No questions. His voice was so similar to Mom’s and it made me feel reassured.

One evening late in summer, I decided that everything was in place. I called Egil again from school and gave him my strict instructions. I knew he would follow them to the letter.

Once Dad had gone to bed and fallen asleep—with a little help from some sleeping tablets in his evening whiskey—I got to work. Mom was absolutely loose-limbed, like a rag doll. She was so broken, so small, so weak, that she didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any questions, just did everything I told her to and let me lead her. I didn’t dare pack anything for her. Nothing could be missing. It couldn’t look like she’d taken anything with her, as if she had left home voluntarily.