by A. H. Kim
I watch and wave as Sam backs the car out the long driveway. The sleek silver roadster pauses for a moment on the street, and I wonder whether Sam forgot something. Then I see him stuffing two cookies into his mouth as he puts the car into Drive and speeds away.
Shuffling back to the house, I try to calculate the number of weeks since I last visited Beth. Thirty days has September, April, June and November, I recite in my head. It’s only been eight weeks. This is my fourth or fifth time visiting Alderson. Neither Eva nor Martin has visited Beth even once in the entire year she’s been in prison.
Although I’ve already spent way too much time away from the office this summer, I just couldn’t say no when Sam asked me to take Claire and Ally to visit Beth. The girls wanted to see their mommy before school starts in September, but Sam had committed to play at an invitational golf tournament in Pittsburgh. Sam hasn’t competed in over a year, and Oakmont is one of his all-time favorite golf courses. I’m happy to make another trip out to Alderson and give Sam a welcome break from the girls.
I take a quick shower and change into comfortable clothes for the long day ahead. My suitcase and the girls’ roller backpacks are already packed and loaded in the car. I just need to finish getting some healthy snacks for the trip and wake the girls.
We make good time and get to Alderson shortly before 3:00 p.m. Visiting hours don’t end until 6:30 on Fridays, so we should have plenty of time to spend with Beth before we need to check into the hotel.
“They’re in the middle of count,” the guard says, “so it’ll be a while.”
“That’s okay,” Claire says. “We know what to do.”
Claire grabs a deck of Uno cards from the front desk, and she and Ally make themselves comfortable. Meanwhile, I start flipping through the visitors’ ledger out of curiosity. Beth wrote me that a former American Idol contestant recently checked in on a drug conviction. I’m vaguely hoping to see Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood or even Adam Lambert among the list of visitors. Instead, I’m surprised to see another familiar name: Charlotte Von Maur. I check the date. Charlotte visited exactly a week ago. Something clicks in my brain. I turn the pages back one by one. It’s like one of those black-and-white movies where the pages of the calendar keep flying off to show the passage of time. As I go further and further back in the visitors’ ledger, I keep seeing Charlotte’s name over and over again.
Charlotte Von Maur has been visiting Alderson like clockwork ever since Beth arrived.
“Count is finished,” the guard comes over to tell us. “Your mommy should be down any minute.”
The girls and I head back to our favorite room and start a game of Uno. “Mommy!” the girls shout when they see Beth coming down the hill. They place their Uno cards on the coffee table and run to the two chairs by the unmarked door. I stay behind, tidying up the stack of cards so their edges are straight. Several minutes later, Beth beams as she enters the back room, Claire pulling her one arm and Ally pulling the other. I stand up to give my sister-in-law a hug.
“Happy birthday, Hannah,” Beth says warmly. I’m dumbfounded she remembered.
“Oh, is it your birthday today, Auntie Hannah?” Claire asks.
“Duh, Claire,” Ally pipes up. “Don’t you remember...”
“Of course, Claire remembers,” Beth interrupts, “but she just forgot for a second.”
“Yeah,” Claire says agreeably. “I just forgot for a second.”
I’m still shocked Beth remembered my birthday.
“Mommy, do you want us to get you a Diet Coke?” Claire asks.
“I’d love a Diet Coke, girls, but how about I go along with you and we can pick out some treats together,” Beth responds. “Hannah, is there anything we can get you?”
“No, I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll head into the back room and see if our regular spot is free.”
Claire grabs the Ziploc bag of change, and the girls pull Beth into the vending machine room. Soon, they join me in the back room with a pile of junk food: snack packages of Oreos, chocolate pudding cups, Snickers, M&M’s, Twix and Beth’s favorite, Life Savers Gummies. I think about the cooler full of fresh fruit in the car that has gone uneaten.
“How was the family reunion this year?” Beth asks as she rips open the bag of gummies and offers them to the girls and me. “Did you have fun with your cousins?”
The hours fly by as the girls and I talk about going to our favorite berry-picking farm up the road from Le Refuge, steaming a huge pot of Maryland blue crabs and fresh ears of corn and dumping them, hot and spicy with Old Bay Seasoning, onto the brown paper-covered table on the back porch, running around the lawn at night and catching fireflies in our hands.
The guards come by to give us the half-hour warning. We return the Monopoly set to the gray metal cabinet and throw away our pizza wrappers and soda cans. It bothers me that the BOP doesn’t seem to provide a bin for recycling.
“Claire, why don’t you take the extra treats back to the hotel?” Beth says.
“Okay, Mommy, good idea,” Claire says cheerfully.
“You’re not staying at The Greenbrier, are you?” Beth asks.
“No,” I reply half-apologetically, “we’re staying at the Holiday Inn Express.”
“It’s closer than The Greenbrier,” Claire chimes in.
“And they have a pool,” Ally adds.
“And free breakfast, including a make-your-own waffle machine,” Claire says.
Beth smiles, first at the girls and then at me. “Wow, that sounds perfect.”
The four of us make our way to the front room of the visitors’ building as the guards clear the back rooms. Beth says hello casually to several other khaki-clad women.
“So, you’ll come and visit me tomorrow morning, right?” Beth says. She moves to get in line for the unmarked door. She’s still holding Ally on one hip, with Claire close by her side. I watch the other women go one by one through the door and back up the hill.
Ally starts to whimper and holds tight to Beth’s neck. As admirably as the girls have adjusted to their new life, goodbyes are still hard. Claire reaches over to comfort her little sister but has tears in her eyes, as well. Beth tries to hand Ally over to me, and for a moment, it seems like Ally won’t ever let go. And then she does.
Ally falls asleep the instant we hit the road. It takes less than thirty minutes to drive from Alderson to the Holiday Inn Express, and Ally refuses to be roused when we arrive. I must look particularly frazzled as I enter the hotel lobby carrying Ally, her floppy head on one shoulder and my oversize handbag on the other. The check-in clerk calls to a young coworker to offer me assistance.
“You’ll be in Room 211,” the clerk says as I sign the registration form. “Why don’t you take the lil ones up to the room and Vicki here will get your bags from the car.”
I hesitate to give this stranger the keys to Sam’s BMW SUV. I worry this might be one of those small-town scams you hear about on the six o’clock news.
“I’ll help Vicki,” Claire offers. “I know how to push the button to open the car.”
I’m about to protest when Ally suddenly wakes up crying, as if from a bad dream.
“I have to go pee-pee,” she wails.
Ally only recently became potty-trained, and she still needs to wear Pull-Ups when she sleeps. I didn’t think to put her in a Pull-Up when we left the prison. I remember the full can of Sprite she drank back at Alderson. In a panic, I grab the car keys out of my bag, hand them to Claire and say, “Just bring in the bags. You can leave the coolers in the car. I’ll get them later.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Min,” Vicki says. “I won’t steal your car or your little girl.”
Before I can think twice, Ally screams, “I have to go!”
We rush up to Room 211, and I plop Ally down on the toilet seat, taking care to balance her tiny bottom so she doesn’t fal
l into the porcelain basin. I can’t help but feel impressed by the amount of liquid Ally held in.
“Okay, all done?” I ask. I feel relieved on her behalf.
“No,” she says. Her face reveals she has more business to transact. I glance nervously at my watch. How long can it possibly take to bring up a few bags?
By the time Ally finally completes her business, I’m already imagining Claire’s cherubic face on the side of a milk carton. I’m about to leave the hotel room when I hear the electronic beeping indicating someone is about to enter.
“Happy birthday, Auntie Hannah!” Claire sings out. She’s holding a small Pyrex dish filled with what appears to be chocolate cake. On top of the frosting, formed out of multicolored M&M’s, is the number fifty. Claire enters the room holding the cake in one hand and pulling her Hello Kitty roller-bag in the other. Vicki waits in the hallway with my suitcase and the girls’ bags on a luggage cart.
“Oh, Vicki, I can’t thank you enough,” I say. I remove the bags from the cart and feel bad about ever having doubted her. I run to grab my purse, pull out my wallet and see I’ve only got $20 bills from my visit to the ATM. I remember the Ziploc bag. Would it be gauche to tip Vicki in quarters? I give Vicki a $20 bill and thank her for her service. I close the hotel door and look fondly at Claire and Ally, who are jumping up and down on the two queen-size beds, screaming, “Happy birthday, Auntie Hannah!”
“Where in the world did you get this cake?”
“I made it!” Claire replies breathlessly. “Mommy told me about the cake on one of our phone calls. Her bunkie, Juanita, makes it at camp all the time, and I asked her to send me the recipe in a letter. Maria and I practiced making it at home.”
“You didn’t make it just now, did you?” I ask.
“Yes! It’s made of Oreos, pudding and Coke. I made it in the microwave downstairs,” Claire explains. “Mommy says the candy bars in the middle make it extra delicious.”
“Were you part of the secret?” I ask Ally incredulously.
“Yes!” Ally replies.
“No!” Claire says, giggling. “Ally didn’t know about the secret. I was going to make the cake with you after dinner, but when Ally said she had to go pee-pee, I thought I would make it with Vicki and surprise you. Did I surprise you?”
“You would have surprised me either way,” I respond. I hug Claire tightly. Claire rips herself away from me and runs to her Hello Kitty roller-bag.
“Wait!” she says. “I have another surprise. Close your eyes, Auntie Hannah.”
Ally jumps on me and orders, “Close your eyes, close your eyes.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and let Ally cover my eyes with her moist little hands. I hear the sound of unzipping zippers and rustling papers.
“Okay, open your eyes, Auntie Hannah,” Claire orders. Ally takes her hands off my eyes and resumes jumping up and down on the bed.
Piled up next to Claire’s chocolate cake are three birthday cards—two slightly crinkled construction paper and crayon cards from Claire and Ally, and a handcrafted origami card from Beth—along with a soft bundle wrapped in white tissue paper.
“Open it!” Claire and Ally shriek. My hands are trembling as I remove the tissue paper and uncover the treasure inside: a beautifully hand-crocheted afghan in soft hues of green and blue, my favorite colors.
“Mommy made it all by herself. She mailed it to our house, and I snuck it here in my suitcase. Do you love it, Auntie Hannah? Do you just love it?” Claire asks. Her face is beaming. Ally giggles nonstop.
My vision is blurred as I take in the bounty before me.
“I do,” I say. “I love it all.”
* * *
“How was your birthday weekend?” Tracy asks. She sits down at her computer and waits for it to boot up.
“Wonderful,” I say. “Really wonderful.” I shuffle through the bundle of periodicals that arrived in the mail and start sorting them into piles.
“Do you have a minute?” Tracy asks. “I’ve been doing some research on my own, and there’s something I wanted to show you. It’s about Beth’s case.”
I’ve been so preoccupied by Sam’s financial problems and taking care of the girls that I haven’t had time to work on Beth’s special assignment, but Tracy is like a dog with a bone. She won’t give up.
I walk over to Tracy’s desk.
“What’s that?” I ask. There, on Tracy’s computer screen, is a bar chart marked with tiny notations. It’s true what they say about turning fifty: my near-vision is getting worse. The letters are too small for me to read.
“It’s an exhibit that shows God Hälsa’s stock price over the past five years,” Tracy explains, “and the dates that certain events happened—when the FDA approved Metamin-G, when the board okayed the ‘Fit Right In’ marketing campaign, when the federal indictment was served.”
Tracy clicks the magnifying glass icon so I can read the details on the screen.
“And see those red arrows?” she continues. “Those are the dates certain people bought or sold unusually large quantities of God Hälsa stock. As you can see, they seem to have timed their activities perfectly.”
“Wow, that looks really bad,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s pretty incriminating,” Tracy says. “I’m not a prosecutor, but I’d say it’s a clear-cut case of insider trading.”
“Where did you find this?”
“The usual. PacerSux.com.”
I give Tracy a nod in recognition of her stellar research skills.
“After we read everything in Beth’s case file, I thought we had reached a dead end,” Tracy says. “But then I found this case citation. To another criminal prosecution.”
Tracy looks at me like she’s delivering a death sentence.
“Sorry, Hannah,” she says, “but the case is called United States v. Sam Min and Alexander Lindstrom-Larsen.”
lise
From the deposition of Lise Danielsson in United States of America v. Sam Min and Alexander Lindstrom-Larsen
Q: Good morning, Ms. Danielsson. I’m the Assistant United States Attorney assigned to this case.
A: Wait, what happened to the other lawyer?
Q: Which other lawyer?
A: The lady lawyer. The one with the nice hair and sharp teeth.
COUNSEL FOR MS. DANIELSSON: Could we go off the record?
[Off the record.]
Q: Now, Ms. Danielsson, do you understand that you are being deposed in the case of United States v. Sam Min and Alexander Lindstrom-Larsen? And that this is a different case from the one you were previously deposed for?
A: Yeah, I do now. Oh my God, is Sam in trouble? No one said anything about Sam getting in trouble.
Q: Mr. Min, along with Mr. Lindstrom-Larsen, has been accused of violating federal securities laws. Specifically, it has been alleged that Mr. Min shared material, non-public information about God Hälsa with Mr. Lindstrom-Larsen, who traded on that information to their financial advantage.
A: Can you put that into regular English?
Q: Mr. Min and Mr. Lindstrom-Larsen have been accused of insider trading.
A: I still don’t know what you’re talking about.
Q: Ms. Danielsson, do you recall your employer, Ms. Elisabeth Lindstrom, ever talking to her husband, Mr. Sam Min, about her work at God Hälsa?
A: Yeah, I guess so. Like, isn’t that normal? For people to talk about their work to their family?
COUNSEL FOR MS. DANIELSSON: I advise my client not to speculate.
A: What does that mean?
COUNSEL FOR MS. DANIELSSON: It means don’t guess.
Q: More specifically, do you recall Ms. Lindstrom, about three years ago, telling Mr. Min that the US Food and Drug Administration had rejected God Hälsa’s request for approval to market Metamin-G for use as a weight loss medication?
COUNSEL FOR MS. DANIELSSON: Speculate.
A: Yeah, I don’t want to speculate.
Q: It’s a yes or no question, Ms. Danielsson.
COUNSEL FOR MS. DANIELSSON: My client has already testified that she doesn’t recall and refuses to speculate.
Q: Do you recall Ms. Lindstrom, also about three years ago, telling Mr. Min that the US Food and Drug Administration had rejected God Hälsa’s request for approval to market Metamin-G for academic performance enhancement?
A: Same answer as before.
Q: And what was that answer?
A: What my lawyer said.
Q: Do you recall Ms. Lindstrom, around two years ago, telling Mr. Min that God Hälsa’s board of directors had just approved a new marketing campaign for Metamin-G aimed specifically at girls?
A: Same answer as before.
Q: Do you recall Mr. Min ever speaking with Mr. Alexander Lindstrom-Larsen about any of these events I just described?
A: Same answer as before.
Q: Ms. Danielsson, I will remind you that you are under oath.
A: What does that mean?
Q: It means, when I ask you a question, you have to answer honestly or else you could go to jail.
A: Is that really true?
[Off the record.]
Q: Ms. Danielsson, could you please answer my question?
A: What was the question again?
Q: I asked do you recall Mr. Sam Min ever speaking with Mr. Alexander Lindstrom-Larsen about any of the events at God Hälsa that I just described?
[Silence.]
Q: Ms. Danielsson?
A: Do I really have to answer these questions? I don’t want to get Sam in trouble.
beth
twenty-seven
The fall rains have started, and the path from A Unit to CDR is soft and muddy tonight. I walk a couple paces behind Juanita and Deb, who are engaged in lively discussion about what Juanita should make for our next gambling party. Juanita’s not working tonight, which means the food at CDR won’t be as good but at least we’ll get to sit together.
