The splitting headache wasn’t just down to Jack Daniel’s. His bed would have provided better sleep than the couch, but it wouldn’t have changed much. His brain had churned through every piece of information. Repeatedly. Had Lars Danielson’s offer been a madman’s ravings? Could it really be FE behind it all? And what did that translate to when it came to getting him exonerated? The questions were piling up, and sleep hadn’t brought any answers. One thing was certain: he had to do whatever it took to ensure that Louise understood it was all fabricated. They could ruin his business, but he would not lose his daughter. Holger’s emotional rollercoaster ride over the past couple of days hadn’t done anything good for his powers of reason: he was yet to find a rational solution to this situation. He remained caught in a destructive limbo, and if he couldn’t climb out of that hole, his relationship with Louise would be damaged beyond repair; that much seemed clear. Look ahead and focus. As he pushed the sleepiness aside, it became apparent that co-operation with FE was perhaps his only way out of this Kafkaesque nightmare. The sacrifice he had to make in order for Louise not to ostracise him. There’s a cost to everything; if that cost is to help FE, so be it, he thought and sat himself up on the couch.

Mechanically, he switched on the TV, dragged himself out into 253the kitchen and made a cup of Nescafé. Both national channels were running follow-up reports on the asset-stripping case, showing a visibly smug commissioner Jørn Andersen basking in the spotlight. Holger flicked off the TV and slowly sipped his coffee as he tried to calm the swarm of questions in his head. But without much success. He thought of driving to the office to get out of the house, but that didn’t make much sense. The police had effectively shut his office down and taken every case file, and that would only compound his frustrations. He decided instead to ask his secretary to spend the day calling clients, explaining the situation. That sure as hell won’t be easy, he thought, making another cup of coffee. After the third cup, it dawned on him exactly what he had agreed to last night. A pact, not precisely with the devil, but close enough. ‘The ends justify the means,’ he mumbled and brushed his fingers over the picture of Louise on the fridge door.

There is no time for self-pity; it is time to act. Holger went upstairs to the bedroom and quickly packed a bag: some underwear, a couple of T-shirts, toiletries, and his military fatigues. Having checked that the answerphone was on, he headed for the car.

He quickly turned onto Lyngbyvejen and followed the motorway signs towards Næstved, located in southern Zealand. The humming of the rubber on the tarmac became a backdrop, and his thoughts circled back to his conversation with his secretary. Energetically, she had assured him that she would explain to everybody that this was one big misunderstanding. She had already told the firm’s other partners so much and had given the receptionist instructions that the message to callers should be that Holger was on a business trip. They had agreed that he would not call in; however, he would pick up messages from his mobile phone. Holger 254managed to push the thoughts to one side, donned his sunglasses, and switched on the sound system. Soon, the music usurped all his worries, and when he exited the motorway in southern Zealand, a firm belief that he could actually make a difference had taken root.