by A. H. Kim
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that person would be Beth.
beth
thirty-eight
“What gave me away?” Hannah asks.
Hannah’s face is drained, and her tiny hands are shaking. But she also looks curious. Like she can’t believe she’s been outsmarted.
I nearly laugh. What didn’t give her away?
Claire and Ally have finished their coloring and come over to me and Hannah, begging for another activity.
“Claire and Ally, go downstairs and find your cousins,” I say. “I bet they’d love to play Ping-Pong with you.”
The girls yelp excitedly and run off. As soon as they’re out the door, I turn to Hannah and tell her what she wants to know.
That the photographs from the Shutterfly photo albums were the prosecution’s strongest evidence against me, proof of my personal knowledge and responsibility for the Metamin-G ads at the heart of the government’s case.
That Maria never put the albums in any kind of order.
That Hannah’s heart beat like a rabbit’s when I hugged her goodbye at Alderson.
That she has a terrible poker face.
“If anyone else had conspired with Lise, they would’ve asked for their share of the whistle-blower reward,” I say. “Only you would let Lise have the whole thing.”
“I hope you know I never intended for it to go so far,” Hannah says. “When Sam told me you wanted a divorce, I was fine with it. Good riddance, I thought. But when I saw how upset he was, and then he said you wanted sole custody of the girls...well, I panicked. Those girls are the only family Sam has. That I have.”
I sit there and let Hannah talk. I can tell she needs to let it out.
“Something in my brain just flipped, I guess,” she continues. “I thought maybe if you lost your job, you wouldn’t be able to afford to divorce Sam. That you’d focus on rebuilding your life rather than ripping it apart.”
“It’s okay, Hannah,” I say. “What’s done is done.”
“The False Claims Act is a civil statute,” Hannah continues, “which means there’s no possibility of jail time. None of the pharmaceutical cases I researched resulted in anyone going to prison. And believe me, I researched all the pharma cases, not just the FCA ones. They were all resolved with monetary penalties. But then the Deputy AG came out with the Yates Memo, and the Justice Department wasn’t content to limit their efforts to just the corporations. They started to go after the executives themselves.”
I assure Hannah I believe her.
Hannah may be misguided, but she’s not cruel. She just underestimated how much public pressure the Justice Department would feel after the financial meltdown to bring white-collar criminals to justice. How the case against me would snowball once the feds started to really dig beneath the surface. How no one could have imagined how much shit was going on around me.
First, there were Martin’s extravagant gifts and dinners with his cronies in the federal government. The low-quality foreign goods that he marketed as US-made. His sloppy books and failure to pay import tariffs. The laundry list of federal violations that Martin could have been charged with made my indictment look like child’s play.
And then there were Sam’s emails to Alex about my work at God Hälsa. Alex’s stock trades based on Sam’s insider information. The way the two of them gave out stock tips to their golf and tennis buddies like some kind of friends and family discount code.
“The worst-case scenario would have been for all of us—Martin, Alex, Sam and me—to get serious prison time,” I explain. “Those poor guys wouldn’t stand a chance in federal prison. Given that overhang, my plea didn’t seem like such a bad deal.”
“It seems I’m not the only one who sacrifices herself for her family,” Hannah says.
“Hey, don’t let that get around.”
We sit together in silence for a while.
“If you knew it was me, why didn’t you confront me right away?” Hannah asks.
Good question. How do I explain the workings of my warped brain?
“What did I have to gain by confronting you?” I begin. “Nothing. It wouldn’t get me out of prison. It wouldn’t undo my plea. All it would do is turn everyone against you, which wasn’t in my best interest.
“I knew Sam couldn’t take care of the girls on his own, and there’s just so much I could control from prison. I needed someone on the outside to help hold the family together. Charlotte wouldn’t do it. I had hoped Eva might step up, or maybe even Martin and Karen, but in the end, you were the only person who was there for Sam and the girls.”
Although she averts her eyes, I can tell Hannah is touched. I’m tempted to tell her I also enjoyed watching her squirm, like a worm on a hook, but that seems unnecessarily cruel.
“Why pretend you wanted me to find Lise’s conspirator?” Hannah asks.
“That was my bunkie’s idea. As you can imagine, I was pretty pissed at you when I first got to Alderson. Juanita and I thought we’d play a little mind game. See how far we could push you before you cracked. But you never did crack. You’re a surprisingly tough cookie.”
“And the wrongful death lawsuit?” Hannah asks. “The girl who died?”
“That part was actually true, but I wasn’t particularly worried. Plaintiff’s lawyers only go after deep pockets. Sam and I were up to our ears in debt—as you eventually learned. God Hälsa paid the girl’s family an out-of-court settlement. It’s chump change for the company. The cost of doing business.”
“When I found out you were going to prison,” Hannah says, “I felt so guilty that I tried to do everything a real sister, a loving sister, would do. It started out like acting, like playing a role. But after a while, something happened. I actually started to look forward to our time together.”
“Ditto,” I hear myself saying.
Damn, when did I go soft?
The truth is Hannah was my connection to the world outside. I grew to depend on her. Not just the magazine subscriptions and Danielle Steele books, but also her weekly letters, the photos of the girls, the in-person visits.
In the end, Hannah was the only one besides Charlotte to visit. Neither Martin nor Eva ever bothered. Even Sam didn’t take the time to come on his own. He only ever visited with Hannah and the girls.
“I know the judge who sentenced you has a reputation for being tough on white-collar criminals,” Hannah says, “but is there any chance you could stay out of prison? Would he grant you an early release? Have your lawyers tried invoking the minor-child extenuating circumstance provision?”
I have to laugh. Even after Sam’s death, Hannah insists on doing her research.
“Nah, that guy’s not called the Coldhearted Snake for nothing. My lawyers say there’s no chance he’ll give me a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Not when I have family who can raise the girls for me.”
“Eva’s going to have her hands full with five girls,” Hannah says.
“I’m not asking Eva,” I reply.
It takes a moment for Hannah to understand my meaning. I can tell by her terrible poker face that she’s simultaneously sorry for me and overjoyed for herself.
“It’s okay to be happy, Hannah. As much as I can’t believe I’m saying this, you’re the only person I trust to take care of the girls. Claire and Ally both love you, and I know you love them. But don’t you go and get any more crazy-ass ideas. It’s just until I get out of prison. After that, you’ll have to settle for being the world’s best auntie.”
Hannah starts laughing and crying at the same time.
“Have you read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?” Hannah asks.
“No, but I saw the movie,” I say.
“Do you remember the final scene where Willy Wonka tells Charlie he’s won the rights to the entire chocolate factory?”
“Claire and
Ally are a lot sweeter than a chocolate factory, I think.”
Hannah nods in fierce motherly agreement.
The Min family scrapbook feels heavy. I lift the book off our laps and place it on the floor. Hannah and I sit together silently and gaze through the streaky glass windows. Outside, the thick, gray clouds swirl and shift.
The torrential rain comes down like ecstatic applause.
hannah
epilogue
It’s been three years since Sam died. We buried his ashes at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo. There’s a modest memorial marker for him, right next to the ones for my parents and Doori. I think Sam would be happy to know his final resting place is just around the corner from Rick James. “Super Freak” was the first song he danced to at his very first middle school dance. He wore a white linen blazer and pink cotton T-shirt in tribute to his favorite TV show, Miami Vice. I’d like to imagine Sam and Rick in heaven, best friends forever, dancing and singing at the top of their lungs.
Charlotte finally decided to quit the pharmaceutical rat race and moved to New Hope, Pennsylvania, where she opened her own boutique. Charlotte’s Web specializes in expensive ladies’ accessories and European beauty products. Wolford and La Mer are among her most popular brands. She’s even in talks with the people at Agent Provocateur to become an exclusive retailer.
Beth and Charlotte are planning to get married when Beth gets released from Alderson, which should be just a couple years from now if Beth gets full credit from the BOP for good behavior and completing her drug rehabilitation program. Claire and Ally will be the flower girls, and Eva and I will be co–maids of honor. Beth asked me to get her a subscription to Modern Bride magazine for inspiration. Both Beth and Charlotte plan to wear white.
As for me, I left Drinker, Barker and Horne, and accepted the position of head librarian at one of the Princeton public library branches. I love my new job. The library patrons appreciate how well I maintain the shelves. Everything’s always in the right place. While I don’t earn nearly as much money as I used to at the firm, that’s fine by me. I made a tidy profit selling my condo in Hoboken. The new owners are an entrepreneurial young couple who run a stylish but homey cat café featuring artisanal small-batch coffees and gluten-free, vegan pastries. It’s Zagat-rated and earns 4.7 stars on Yelp.
The girls and I live in an updated three-bedroom bungalow not far from the library. Claire and Ally share a bedroom overlooking the leafy backyard—it was their choice, the inseparable, dynamic duo—and Beth convinced me to take the master. We use the third bedroom for guests.
Eva and her youngest daughter come to visit us in Princeton quite often. Eva’s two older girls are growing up so fast they barely have a free weekend, but they’re good about catching up with Claire and Ally on FaceTime. Eva asked Alex for a trial separation, but Alex is staying in the garage cottage until he can find a job to support himself. I hear he’s trying to get his place featured on one of those tiny-house programs on HGTV.
Martin and Karen and their kids live in Nebraska now, where Martin works at a plumbing supply company owned by one of Karen’s brothers. I still can’t eat fish without thinking of him.
Beth and I are fighting with the insurance company over coverage for Le Refuge. The insurance company claims that the antique candleholders on the Christmas trees—which the fire inspector determined was the cause of the accidental blaze—are illegal in all fifty states, and the homeowner’s policy contains an express limitation of coverage for any damage caused by illegal activity. Old Man Barker assigned Things 1 and 2 to handle the case for me pro bono, and we’re hoping to settle out of court.
We had no such troubles with Sam’s life insurance policy, however, which paid up within months of his death. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the insurance check made payable to me. “Of course, you’re the beneficiary, Hannah,” Beth said. “Sam adored me and the girls, but he felt most loved by you.”
I received a sympathy card in the mail from Owen about six months after Sam died. Apparently, he read in the news about the fire and Sam’s death, but it took him months to track down a mailing address for me. He finally found my name online in an old issue of the Drinker, Barker and Horne client newsletter, and the firm forwarded his card to me in Princeton. We’ve talked by phone several times and exchanged Christmas cards. He’s offered to come out to the East Coast to visit me, but I’ve held him off. I don’t think I’m quite ready.
It’s still hard for me to accept Sam’s death. There’s a lot of guilt I’m working through. How I might have prevented the fire if I had stayed at Le Refuge rather than gone out caroling. How I should have forced Sam to join me instead of leaving him alone. How I could have helped Sam more—or less—throughout his life. My weekly therapy sessions are helping, but I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.
The best thing I can do is keep busy. At the library, I read my favorite children’s books aloud to wide-eyed toddlers and their overeager parents during my daily lap-sit sessions. I take Claire and Ally grocery shopping on Sunday mornings and cook them a home-cooked dinner every night. Their favorite is chicken tetrazzini and spaghetti with meatballs. I have a regular slot every Wednesday to volunteer at their school, and I try to chaperone as many field trips as possible. My absolute can’t-miss trip is The Cheesecake Factory.
Hey, don’t judge me.
In the end, I couldn’t bear to pull Claire and Ally out of Princeton Country Day.
After all, the girls are thriving there.
* * *
acknowledgments
“One too many chocolate martinis.”
That was the prompt Christopher DeLorenzo read aloud in his warm and inviting living room in 2015—the prompt that inspired the opening scene of this book. To Chris and my fellow Tuesday evening Laguna Writers, Carol Harada, Chris McClean, Daniel Raskin, Iris Fluellen, Kate Nitze, Ken Linton and Sharon Smith: thank you for telling me to “put a sticky on that one” and keep writing. Eternal gratitude to Merijane Block (miss you) for making the introduction.
As the random bits of writing came together into a messy manuscript, I was lucky to have a group of insightful readers (and gifted writers) to provide encouragement and feedback. To my manuscript group, Lisa Hills, Bill Manheim, Lily Rubin, Gargi Talukder and Debbie Weissmann: thank you for reading those awkward early drafts, highlighting the parts you loved and remembered, and telling me in the gentlest possible way how I might make the story even better.
To Alice Kim Blake, Adrian Blake, Seung Oh, John Kim (miss you, Ope), Erin Edmunds and Aichi Daniel: thank you for reading my book in progress and helping me believe it wasn’t tripe. Your love and friendship nourish me.
As many aspiring writers will confirm, trying to get an agent is a maddening, ego-destroying process. To Kirby Kim, my awesome agent and brother from another mother: thank you for seeing the potential in my manuscript, working hard with me to transform it into a novel and guiding this first-time author through the thrilling but unfamiliar world of publishing. Thanks also to Brenna English-Loeb, the staff at Janklow & Nesbit, particularly Eloy Bleifuss and Michael Steger, and Lia Chan at ICM Partners for all your efforts on my behalf.
While getting an agent might have been the most frustrating phase of publishing, the most mysterious to me was editing. After all the work it takes to get a manuscript ready for publishers, what’s left to be done? In my case, it turned out the answer was “Plenty.” To Brittany Lavery, my wise and wonderful editor: thank you for your keen intelligence and clear-eyed guidance that helped tighten the story, give it more heart and amp up the suspense. Thanks as well to the team at Graydon House, especially Roxanne Jones, Laura Gianino, Pamela Osti, Ana Luxton, Susan Swinwood, Margaret Marbury and Amy Jones, for bringing A Good Family into the world.
When my friends hear that I’m going to be a published author in addition to my full-time job as a corporate lawyer, they inevitably ask, “Where i
n the world do you find the time?” Too often, writing time comes at the expense of family time. To my husband, John, and beloved sons, Jonah and Theo: thank you for pushing me to keep writing when I wanted to give up, letting me know how proud you are of me and being the very best supporters anyone could have. You give me infinite joy.
Finally, to my parents, Yong and Yongboon Kim: thank you for everything. I love you more than I can say.
A Good Family
A.H. Kim
Reader’s Guide
Questions for Discussion
The two primary narrators, Hannah and Beth, are a study in contrasts. In what ways are they different? In what ways do we discover they are alike? What do you make of the relationship between the two?
Hannah and Beth start off the book with distinct narrative voices. In what ways do their voices differ? Do you find that their voices change over the course of the book? If so, how and why? Whose narration do you find more enjoyable to read?
The book opens with Hannah observing the luxurious details of Le Refuge—everything from the Carrara marble countertops in the kitchen to the memory foam mattresses in the dorms—and she continues to mention such details throughout the book. How do you think Hannah feels about these extravagances? How do you feel about them? Do Hannah’s feelings change over time? Do yours?
Both Hannah and Beth face conflicts working in white, male-dominated environments. How do Hannah and Beth respond to such conflicts? Have you faced similar conflicts in your life? Whose approach do you find more relatable?
Both Hannah and Beth come from modest immigrant backgrounds, although Hannah was born in the US and Beth was born in Sweden. What role does immigration play in each character’s life? What about race? Do you think it’s easier for an immigrant to “blend in” when they are Swedish versus Korean?
