The Invoice by Jonas Karlsson Read Free Book Online

have heard anything about this before that invoice popped through my letterbox. Maybe they specifically targeted single people with a shaky grasp of what was going on in the world, and got them to believe a load of lies?
    —
    When I failed to find the sheet of paper and neither of us had said anything for almost a minute, I went and stood by the window. A shiver of belated insight ran through my body. That was my first reaction, I thought. That was the first thing I thought: fake invoice. I tried to remember how much information I had given away, apart from my address, date of birth, and ID number.
    In the end, I said straight out: “How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”
    She remained silent. I went on without waiting for her to answer.
    “Maybe this is all just a trap? It’s the sort of thing you hear about, after all. Have you seen
The Spanish Prisoner
by David Mamet? That conspiracy film, where everything turns out to have been fake? Or that other one, what’s it called?
The Game
, with Michael Douglas. How do I know you’re not trying to deceive me and are going to vanish with all my money?”
    She didn’t say anything. I thought it felt like a nervous silence. The silence of someone who had been found out. What can anyone say, once everything has been uncovered and revealed?
    I couldn’t deny that it was incredibly well done. Grandiose, really. Putting together such an advanced plan, appealing to the victim’s guilty conscience like that, and making it sound almost plausible. In a way it actually felt a bit unkind to have to put a stop to it. I mean, I’d started to enjoy those conversations. I’d have been happy to carry on talking to her each evening. She was drinking coffee again now. Rustling papers, or tidying something in the office.
    “Well,” she said eventually, “naturally you’re entitled to book a meeting and come up and talk to one of our advisors, if you’d rather do it that way.”

W.R.D.’s Swedish headquarters consisted of a number of adjoining buildings made of speckled gray granite. An apparently endless flow of people moved to and fro across the shiny stone floor of the main entrance. A large black sign bearing the words “World Resources Distribution” in gold hung above a row of no fewer than six lifts. Along one wall water trickled down smooth, polished granite in a steady, even stream. The large, south-facing glass wall let in plenty of light, and there were big square pots containing what might have been fig trees at the foot of it. There may have been gentle music playing in there, unless it was just the well-judged design itself that was contributing to the harmonious soundscape. Between the third and fourth lifts was a map of the entire complex, with a large “you are here” arrow to indicate where I was.
    —
    The advisors were on the eleventh floor, and their reception area had glass doors facing all directions, making it impossible to ignore the view. Straight ahead, opposite the lift, a woman was sitting at a desk looking through some papers and answering the phone. She asked me to take a seat. I sat down in one of the armchairs grouped to one side of her. To my left was an empty conference room, and to the right the sort of open-plan office I imagined Maud worked in. I amused myself by trying to work out which one she might be. There were a dozen or so people in there, and most of them were indeed standing at height-adjustable desks. My attention was taken by a woman with long hair in a brownish-beige dress. She looked calm even though you could see she was talking very quickly. It was surprisingly quiet out where I was sitting, considering the level of activity behind the glass doors. Only one door had frosted glass, and through it came a man with combed-over hair. He introduced himself as Georg and asked me to go with him to one of the meeting rooms.
    Georg was wearing a suit with no tie and looked like he was the same age as me, possibly a few years