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“Chairman Lee has offered to put in a good word for me, and he’s arranged to have someone write a letter of recommendation for a scholarship or something. He wants to help me in some way,” I say.
“No,” my father says without hesitation. “Absolutely not. You will not accept anything from that man. He cannot be trusted, Jessica.” My dad reaches out to grab my hand, squeezing comfortingly. His eyes are sad but resolute. It dawns on me how similar his words are to Elijah’s warning about his father.
I want to rebel. I want to tell my dad he’s overreacting. I want to scream that Chairman Lee has something to give and it’snothingin the grand scheme of things for him to do so. So why wouldn’t I accept whatever he offers?
I may have deceived my father this summer, but I’ve never directly disobeyed anything he’s told me to do. Well, he did tell me to stay out of trouble and I guess I blew that one. But still.
It’s frustrating that he and Elijah are both so stubborn that they can’t just let it go. I get it, Chairman Lee is not a good guy. But that doesn’t mean he’s got some sinister plan up his sleeve just by jump-starting my future. I know my father despises Haneul Corp, but honestly, isn’t every huge company out there just one and the same? I’m here. I’ve put in the work. Why can’t I benefit from it all?
“We’ll find another way,” my dad goes on. “You’ll walk away from this summer with a hard lesson learned and nothing more. We’ll figure out the rest as a family.”
“I still don’t understand why we can’t just accept his help,” I say in one last-ditch effort to convince my dad.
“Some things are not worth the cost,” he replies, “and I’m not just talking about dollars.”
25
elijah
I dial my sister’s number.
“Where is he?”
“Elijah, trust me when I say you do not want to see Dad right now. He’s furious with you, and Mom is doing everything she can to keep him from cutting you off this instant.”
“Mom’s here?” She never travels with my dad for work. If she’s here, it’s because she’s really worried about me. Mom has always been the only one who can calm my dad down when he’s on a tirade—and she’s only successful maybe half the time. “Where are they, Hee-Jin?”
“We’re all at The Plaza,” she says with a sigh.
They’re only a few blocks away so I break out into a run. Despite the unbearable humidity and the sidewalks filled with huge crowds of people visiting the area around Central Park, I make it there quickly.
The Plaza Hotel looks like a castle in the middle of New York City, tall columns with chiseled statues bookending the entrance. I rush through the massive front doors, looking around the grand lobby—past priceless artwork hung on walls, leather and velvet sofas more like museum pieces than places to comfortably sit, and hotel guests dressed in what they’ve determined in their minds as their “New York best” but entirely impractical—realizing that nothing about this opulence attracts me.
I find the elevators and follow a bellman with a luggage cart stacked with at least ten pieces of Globe-Trotter trunks, suitcases, and garment bags. He looks up at me and scans from head to toe, probably wondering what I’m doing here in my generic T-shirt, my average jeans, my everyday Nikes. I don’t give a shit what he thinks of me.
“Penthouse please,” I say to him, as he’s standing in front of all the buttons to the floors of the hotel.
He narrows his eyes, hesitant to comply.
I reach over and press thePbutton myself and then lean against the back wall of the elevator, close my eyes, and try to catch my breath, preparing myself to have it out with my dad.
The bellman gets off on the ninth floor and I don’t bother to even look at him. If he’s so suspicious about me, call security for all I care. A part of me wants to call out to him and say that my father would never have us stay in any room that wasn’t the top floor, while his guests with their overpriced luggage are only here on the ninth.
But I stop myself. Because that would be something a spoiled asshole would say. I actually don’t care about being recognized as someone rich enough, someone deemed worthy to ride in an elevator to the upper floors of The Plaza. I’m so over how people judge others and their value, their right to be somewhere, by how they show off their money. I’m so over howIused to be before this summer.
So I wait till the doors close again and ignore the lighted number announcing where I’m going. I just ride all the way until the bell dings and when the elevator doors slide open, I get out to face my doom.
My father’s back is to me as he looks out the window toward the expansive view of Central Park. His phone is held up to his ear and I hear him yelling at someone in Korean about flight times.
My mom sits on the oversized white sofa in the living area of the penthouse suite. A memory of Jessica freaking out over me sitting on the white sofa in the brownstone threatens to bring a smile to my face, but I hold it back. Mom’s legs are crossed at the ankle, her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes lowered a perfect forty-five degrees. A glass of white wine sits off to her right on the black marble side table. I watch as a drop of condensation makes its way down toward the stem. For some reason, the one thing I think about is how distressed my mother must be if she forgot to put a coaster under her glass.
My sister sits in one of the gold armchairs at the dining table just off the living area. I glance over at her and she gives me a small smile. It strikes me as odd that she’s not sitting next to my mother. I wonder how much Dad’s already taken out on her about this whole fiasco.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her. She shakes her head and waves her hand slightly as if to tell me not to worry. I let out a deep, even breath.
“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” I jump as my dad’s strong voice cuts through the tense air, startling me. There is no warmth in his tone. He doesn’t speak to me as a father to a son, but more like an employee he has no time for and is annoyed he has to deal with.
“I was going to tell you...” I try to explain.
