Conspiracies

5. Tell me who is lying.

I still remember how Lasse and I met. It was a moment that could be relived in great detail as if it had happened five minutes ago. It was my last year in journalism at Harvard University, Massachusetts. Since my childhood in Bay City and my adolescence in Chicago, I had always dreamed of going to that university to fulfill my dream of being a journalist.

My mother abandoned my father and me as soon as I was born, and she took my sister to live with her when I was still very young. I never knew why. When I asked my father, he always told me that he would tell me when I was older. I always asked the rest of my family why my mother did such a thing, but they only led me down dead ends.

All I did was cry. My father had to work, and I did not know that his heart was broken.

Luckily, on a frigid fall day, coming out of college, I met Lasse. He was sitting on a bench with a map in his hand, it was obvious that he was quite lost, so I decided to help him.

What should have been a concise and clear explanation of how to get to the Natural History Museum turned into a conversation lasting almost three hours. I accompanied him to the museum, and then he invited me to a coffee to thank me for the help.

He explained that he had come to the United States on vacation and that it was all very improvised. That same year he told me that he had had some problems and that he decided to go away for a while to disconnect, and ended up here, visiting the university where I was studying.

Lasse stayed a few more months in Massachusetts as our relationship grew stronger at times.

Politics had always been his dream. Every night he told me how he would win the elections and what he would do as Prime Minister of Denmark.

At the end of my degree, I got a position in The New York Times. But I had to quit as Lasse had our future planned in Denmark, and I was willing to do anything for love.

We moved into his house in Copenhagen, and he found me a position in Skandale.

And now, twenty-seven years later, the thought that that same man was a murderer was growing larger as time passed.

Lasse had gone to another room and had been on the phone for quite some time. I was still sitting in the dining room chair, staring at the wine glass, which had a single sip left to finish it.

I completely ignored the message Jannik had sent me because it was clear to me that he was bluffing. As if he didn't know how much I knew him. Jannik thought that if he pushed me a little, I would agree to publish the story, but it was not going to be like that.

I picked up the glass of wine gently and drank what little was left. It was cold. I could hear Lasse on the phone with God knows who. I looked at the clock, it was after one at night. I was tremendously exhausted. For almost the seventeenth time, I succumbed to closing my eyelids and falling asleep soundly. But I didn't because I kept waiting for Lasse to explain himself, and I wasn't going to rest until I had what I wanted. After ten minutes and with Lasse on the phone, I decided to clear the table.

When I got up, I felt a deep prick in my back. I needed sleep. I gathered up the plates and glasses and put them all in the silver dishwasher in the kitchen. I returned to the dining room to get the salad bowl and put it in the fridge. After closing the refrigerator door, I snorted. I couldn't wait any longer, so I went to the room where Lasse was, put on the most serious face I could put on, and looked him straight in the eye. He responded with his typical "oh no, darling, I can't help you now. I'm too busy working at home." I hated that look. I walked over to him, took the phone from him, and hung up the call. His facial expression changed from serious to surprised. I replied with a look that said "put your work aside and stop ignoring me." How important was body language.