Park Avenue, page 4
“He says you’ve been playing squash at the club together for the last fifteen years,” Sora continued. There was a hint of an accent in the way she spoke. Nothing meaningful or specific. Just a rounding of tones and a lengthening of vowels, like the way Madonna spoke while she was married to Guy Ritchie.
Ben said, “Only when Chip lets me win.”
Sora laughed, and it reminded Jia of the bells chiming at Mass during transubstantiation, when the bread and wine changed into the actual body and blood of Jesus Christ.
Jia leaned back in her chair to study Sora from a distance. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to slow-clap or scream. The pole up this chick’s backside had to be shoved straight through to her head. The urge to laugh took hold of Jia. She wanted to tilt her head to the sky and crow. To release a ribald, robust guffaw into the modern chandelier hanging above the conference table. She bet if she laughed loud enough, she could make the rectangular crystals tremble as if she were a giant stomping around the room yelling “fee-fi-fo-fum.”
“Well, fuck me sideways.” The door to the conference room thunked shut. The young woman standing beyond the threshold blew her balayaged bangs off her forehead. “And I tried so hard to get here early.” She plodded toward the side of the table where her brother and sister sat. Stopped. Smirked. Reconsidered. And then took the seat beside Jia.
“I’m Suzy.” She shoved her right hand in Jia’s face. “Who are you?”
“Jia Song.” She shook Suzy Park’s hand, impressed by both her grip and the six Cartier LOVE bangles clinking together on her wrist, which seemed incongruous with the rest of Suzy’s ensemble. She wore a flowing Réalisation Par maxi dress with a flowery print over a thin black turtleneck and at least five different gold necklaces of varying lengths. A large green puffer coat, emerald Doc Marten boots, and a vintage Balenciaga tote completed the outfit. Artsy and expensive, albeit a bit young.
“Hmm,” Suzy said in an unnerving echo of her twin. “You’re Korean, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Jia replied with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. “I am.”
“Did you go to Harvard Law?” Suzy pressed, focusing on Jia with an intent expression.
“No. Columbia.”
Suzy snorted. “Were your parents proud of you?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you didn’t go to Harvard?”
Jia’s fake grin widened. “Were your parents proud of you even though you didn’t go to Harvard?”
“Nope.” Suzy cackled. “My mom loves me, but she was never proud. And my dad can go suck a big fat—”
“I think we should probably get started,” Minsoo interrupted in a quiet but firm voice.
Suzy laughed. “Ah, Marky.” A sigh flew from her lips. “I missed you.”
“Ms. Song,” Sora began, zeroing in on Jia. “Mr. Volker.” She turned to Ben. Jia had to admit she was impressed by Sora’s dedicated efforts to ignore her twin. “We don’t want to waste too much of your time. My father-in-law recommended your firm because of your discretion and because of your history in dealing with delicate financial matters.”
Jia nodded. “Please go ahead, Mrs. Park-Vandeveld.”
“I can assure you, we will handle this matter with the highest levels of both prudence and professionalism,” Ben added.
Sora picked up her sunglasses and tapped one of the earpieces on the smooth surface of the river table, the noise rhythmic. “We find ourselves in a rather … uncomfortable situation.”
Suzy snickered. She inclined in her swivel chair and tossed her wavy hair over one shoulder, fluffing it with her hands as if she were already bored by the entire affair.
Though Sora did not acknowledge Suzy’s presence, her cheeks hollowed. “My mother has been battling breast cancer for three years now. She underwent a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery last year, but unfortunately the cancer has continued to spread.” She inhaled through her nose. “Her current prognosis is … distressing, to say the least. The doctors said they would be surprised if she makes it past this summer.”
A thick silence settled on the space. Suzy’s expression sobered. Minsoo looked away. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Jia’s reply was gentle. “Cancer is a terrible thing for any family to endure.”
Sora blinked at Jia, the tapping of her sunglasses ceasing for a moment.
“Thank you,” Minsoo said. “It hasn’t been easy for us. Our mother has always been the center of our family.”
“Whatever.” Suzy’s voice dripped with acid. “Since she got sick, you avoid her like the plague. When was the last time you actually stayed at Umma’s house for more than an hour?”
Minsoo grimaced. “Please, Chagan-noona,” he said to Suzy. “Chaebal, putak handa.” Even the way he pleaded with her was careful. The consummate diplomat. Then Minsoo turned back to Sora, who continued to ignore her sister’s presence, though Jia noticed a wash of color rising in Sora’s cheeks and signs of tension banding across her brow. It took Jia a moment to realize why, and once she did, it became a struggle to conceal her reaction. Her awful, unforgivable glee.
Sora Park-Vandeveld was embarrassed. Whatever she was about to share was deeply shameful. A source of unending humiliation. Jia knew it was wrong. But she found herself leaning forward, her fingers gripping her Montblanc pen with the eagerness of an ambulance chaser.
“About two months ago, my father filed for a divorce from my mother,” Sora said, the words curdling in the air the second they left her mouth.
“Fucking asshole,” Suzy whispered, her open palm striking the river table. “Couldn’t even wait until she was dead.”
“He already left her a year ago,” Sora continued. “They’d been separated for a while before that, though they lived in the same house. It wasn’t a huge surprise that he filed for a divorce. We … haven’t been on great terms with him since he left our mother.”
“I’m sure you can understand why,” Minsoo added, giving Sora’s forearm a reassuring pat.
That did it. Minsoo was officially Jia’s favorite Park sibling.
“Of course.” Jia nodded.
“But in the last couple of weeks”—Sora took a breath—“we’ve received truly disturbing information.” Her features hardened. “My parents didn’t have a prenup, as they were married before they amassed their wealth. They built Mirae together, and my mother always trusted my father with the financial side of things. She never knew exactly how much money they had, but she knew they had a lot of it. After years of struggling to make ends meet, she had money to buy whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. She never asked questions. Three years ago, Forbes estimated their company was worth nearly a billion dollars.” Sora paused. “So when my father brought financial documents to my mother’s divorce attorney, we were all shocked. He claimed they were worth around twenty-five million.”
Jia’s eyebrows shot up, her pen halting above her notepad. Frowning, Ben rested his elbows along the edge of the table.
Sora’s small hands—their lone adornment a massive, cushion-cut heirloom diamond with a ridiculous name—balled into fists. “Ludicrous,” she whispered. “Twenty-five million? My parents own a yacht that is worth twice that. They have a house in the Cayman Islands, an apartment in Le Marais, a condo in Kangnam, an olive tree estate in Crete, and, of course, the Park Avenue residence. Their real estate portfolio alone must be worth in excess of a hundred million dollars.” She eased back in her chair. “My father is lying. My brother and I believe he is trying to conceal the majority of our wealth from us.”
“May I ask why he would go to such lengths to lie about the money?” Jia posed the question in what she hoped was a neutral tone.
For an instant, no one answered. Minsoo shifted in his chair, waiting for Sora to make her decision.
“You may ask,” Sora replied. “But your guess is as good as ours.”
Interesting. Sora Park-Vandeveld had just told her first bald-faced lie, which meant the truth was something she did not wish to admit, at least not in front of her attorneys. Given how cagey both Sora and Minsoo were, it would take considerable effort on Jia’s part to uncover the truth. Or maybe she could just plan a drunk lunch with Suzy.
“I quietly looked at the paperwork my father presented to my mother’s divorce lawyer,” Minsoo said. “I’m sure you understand why I could not ask the forensic accountant at my company to have a peek. At least, not without drawing the kind of attention we do not want, especially at such a delicate moment. This kind of inner turmoil wreaks havoc on publicly traded companies like Mirae. Anyway, my conclusion after studying the financial documents is the same as Sora’s. Our father has hidden the majority of our family’s fortune, and he’s done it well. The paper trail is a quagmire. It will take a herculean effort to weed through everything.”
“Especially,” Sora interjected, her expression grim, “since our mother doesn’t wish to challenge my father’s pittance of a settlement. He offered her fifteen million and the Park Avenue property to walk away.”
Silence hung in the air for a beat.
“May I ask why your mother won’t challenge it?” Ben steepled his hands before him.
“She’s fought so hard already,” Jia answered without thinking. “The money has never been what mattered to her. And the shame of this entire situation is … soul deep.”
The silence widened. All three Park siblings considered Jia, their faces careful.
“Yes.” Minsoo blinked. “Precisely.”
Jia eased back into her chair, her mind a thoughtful whirl. “If I may go a step further, I suppose the three of you wish to challenge the settlement on your mother’s behalf, as it directly affects your inheritance.” She paused. “This is an indelicate question, but … is your father pursuing a relationship with someone else?”
Discomfort rippled through the room, and Jia worried she’d overstepped.
Suzy smirked at her. “Maybe you’re not just an affirmative action hire after all, Columbia. Also, I should probably let you know—since my brother and sister don’t really visit my mother—that I’m pretty sure the staff is helping our father fuck us over.” She rested her chin on her stacked palms, her head tilted conspiratorially. “Like, I swear I saw one of the maids at Park Avenue tuck mail into her skirt pocket before my mother’s house manager, Darius, could go through it. You should definitely talk to him, Columbia. Earn those billable hours. Darius is a good egg.”
Minsoo winced. “I’m sorry, Ms. Song. I hope you’re not terribly offended. We know you must be more than capable, especially at a firm like Whitman Volker.”
“Oh, what bullshit,” Suzy said. “Tell me you didn’t think the same thing. Of course they pulled their Korean lawyer into this. Like, oh, this will make everything perfect! They can talk about kimchi and BTS and bulgogi. We’ll make sure they bond while we bill them a thousand bucks an hour.”
Jia watched Sora bare her teeth as she finally glanced toward her twin, the first and only time she’d deigned to acknowledge Suzy’s presence. “Takchuh,” she murmured.
“Whoa.” Suzy dragged out the word, her arms flailing as she looked to the four corners of the conference room. “Did you just talk to me?” Her mouth hung open with theatrical emphasis. “Like, I don’t even care that you told me to shut the fuck up. Did you just speak to me, Unyee?”
Sora crossed her arms and stared straight through her sister. Jia swore she could hear Sora’s brain counting to ten. Swore she could see the way Sora nursed her anger as if it were an affliction. There was probably a Gail in her head, too.
Suzy’s grin turned malicious. “Did they tell you why my sister hasn’t spoken to me in years?”
“Noona,” Minsoo said. “Don’t. Please.”
She ignored her brother. “I’ll tell you why.”
Minsoo exhaled in a rush of air. “Suzy, this is not—” Sora placed a hand on his arm. In silence—with nothing but a look—she told him not to intervene. To let things play out.
Jia’s heartbeat quickened. Biting her lower lip, she wordlessly begged Suzy not to take her twin’s bait, though she longed to hear everything the most dramatic Park sibling had to say.
Suzy almost vibrated with anticipation. As if she knew her sister was daring her. Knew it and didn’t care. They were playing chicken, and Suzy would be damned before she swerved first.
“I was skinnier two years ago,” she began with an impish smile as she gestured toward her ample chest. “My sister and I were the same size, believe it or not. A two. Perfect for social media and couture samples. Like, I basically lived off jelly beans and vodka sodas.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’d always worshipped Sora. My mother used to dress us alike, and Sora hated it, but I loved looking like her. Even tried to copy her style a few times before I realized I don’t like underwear that makes me feel like a sausage in a casing. In fact,” she said with a wink at Ben, “I don’t care for underwear at all.”
Now she was being ridiculous. Merely trying to get a rise out of them. Armed with a tactful pivot, Jia opened her mouth, but Suzy cut her off.
“Okay, okay, I won’t talk about underwear anymore. Mee-an,” she apologized, holding up both her hands in scornful surrender.
“Noona,” Minsoo tried again. “Please.”
But Suzy ignored him a second time. “A little more than two years ago, Sora and I were invited to a Halloween party at Ali Shaffir’s penthouse. We decided it would be fun to dress the same and style our hair so that no one could tell us apart. I mean, white people already have a hard time with Asians. It was going to be a hoot. We dressed like the twins from The Shining, like the whole pale blue dress and the knee-high stockings with the patent leather Mary Janes. Manolo Blahnik, of course. The whole kit was…” She mimed a chef’s kiss.
Jia glanced at Sora, who continued staring straight through her sister, her arms crossed, her face devoid of emotion.
“Here’s where things get interesting,” Suzy said. “Right before we get to the party, I try to convince both Sora and Alex to do molly with me. They were so much fun before they had kids. Well, Sora was fun. Alex is … well, Alex. Like, he will drink you under the table, but he’s the squarest of squares. The kind who will try swinging in his fifties, if you know what I mean.”
“Koomahn,” Minsoo begged her to stop. He turned toward Sora, his expression pleading. “Noona, please just—”
“No,” Sora said, her voice soft. “Let her finish.”
Jia tried to smile. “Maybe we can return to discussing more of what you would like Whitman Volker to—”
“I said”—Sora glared at Jia—“let her finish.”
Anxiety made Jia want to wither under Sora’s thousand-yard stare. Anger made her want to sit taller. To insist that they at least try the brakes on the runaway train.
“You heard Lady Vandeveld,” Suzy teased. “Don’t worry. I’m almost finished.” She grinned at Jia and Ben, who shifted in his chair with obvious discomfort. “Sora and Alex wouldn’t take any molly. But I definitely took some about five minutes before we arrived at Ali’s building. Man, I don’t remember a lot of that party. But I do know I was having a crazy amount of fun. I danced. I drank.” She took a deep breath. “I met someone.”
A bead of perspiration slipped between Jia’s breasts, pooling in the bottom of her sensible cotton bra. In fifteen minutes, it would be impossible to hide the sweat.
Suzy tossed her hair and grinned, but Jia noticed an edge to it. An unmistakable glimmer of pain. All the f-bombs and underwear talk couldn’t mask the truth of it. “He was flirty and fun,” she said. “Dressed like Batman. He even did the whole gruff voice thing. We role-played a bit, and then we wound up in Maxine Shaffir’s infamous closet. Yeah, you know. The one with a hundred pairs of Jimmy Choos and all those emerald-green Chanel bags.”
Even before Suzy shared the next part of the story, Jia knew what had happened. She cleared her throat. “Suzy, why don’t we—”
“We’d been going at it—you know, fucking like coked-out rabbits—for maybe five minutes when the door to Maxine’s closet opened, like a scene out of Downton Abbey or some shit. Six women, including my sister, were standing with Maxine, watching me get railed by the masked Caped Crusader … I mean, by none other than Dr. Charles Alexander Vandeveld the third.” There was no sparkle in Suzy’s gaze now, nor did she seem to take any pleasure in relaying these details. A single tear slid down her cheek. “You know the worst part? In that awful moment, Sora pretended everything was fine. For the sake of saving face, she played along. Then after the party, she forgave Alex. He said he thought I was her all along, and she fucking believed him. But when I told her I had no idea Batman was Alex—that I’d forgotten entirely, especially because he didn’t put on his mask until we arrived at the party—she attacked me. Can you believe it? She forgave her cheating, drunk husband without blinking an eye, but she turned her back on me, like the hypocritical, coldhearted bitch she is.”
Minsoo closed his eyes and sighed.
Suzy winked. “Don’t worry, though. Sora may have given me a black eye, but I definitely took a hunk of that angelic hair with me. And now I know exactly how Alex likes to have his—”
A single lemon wedge—along with the contents of an entire glass of Perrier—struck Suzy Park’s face with superhuman speed. Jia hadn’t even noticed Sora Park-Vandeveld stand, much less take aim. The splash back from the seltzer hit the right side of Jia’s blazer, droplets soaking into her silk collar and one of her borrowed shoes.
Sora put on her sunglasses. “You fucking whore,” she said to Suzy.
Before anyone could say a word, Sora Park-Vandeveld glided from the room.
ALEA IACTA EST
Now would be a prudent time to reflect on these revelations.
This author is aware of the thoughts that must race through a reader’s mind at this point in the tale. Rest assured, they are the same thoughts this author once shared.
