“Thank you for taking time to come all this way,” Beth says. She settles into her chair and scoots closer to me. “I know you don’t like to drive by yourself, and it’s a long way from New York to here.” I’m touched by Beth’s acknowledgment of my sacrifice and her pretense that I live in New York rather than Hoboken.
“You look good, Beth. Honestly, you look a lot better than I thought you would.” Beth’s fair skin looks dewy fresh, her long lashes are tastefully accented with mascara and her lips are softly enhanced with matte pink lipstick.
“Thanks,” Beth replies with the casual tone of a woman used to accepting compliments. “It was hard the first week, but I adjusted pretty quickly. You’d be amazed how much less stress you feel when you don’t have to worry about taking care of two young children, holding down a full-time job and fighting off creditors, all at the same time.”
You mean like my poor brother has to do? I think. Then I feel guilty. Beth doesn’t deserve any more judgment. After all, she’s in prison.
“How’s your cellmate?” I ask.
“My bunkie? She’s great. Her name’s Juanita, and she’s smart as a whip. I’ve learned a lot from her already.”
We spend the next couple hours chatting. I fill Beth in on Claire’s and Ally’s activities, and Beth describes the colorful characters that make up Alderson’s population: Meatloaf Mary, Deb the Destroyer and Runaround Sue. Time passes quickly.
“Hannah, we’ve only got a few more minutes before visiting hours end,” Beth says, “so I should explain why I asked you here.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the edge of disappointment out of my voice. I thought Beth just wanted someone to talk to; I didn’t realize there was a reason Beth asked me here.
“Over the past few months,” Beth says, “even before I got to Alderson, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Lise.”
Just hearing Lise’s name makes my blood pressure spike. Lise was a sweet teenager from a small town in Sweden when Beth hired her several years ago to be Claire’s au pair. After Ally was born a couple years later, Lise became even more integrated into Beth and Sam’s life. Lise did everything, went everywhere, with them. She was practically a member of their family. Then last year, Lise filed a whistle-blower lawsuit against Beth and her pharmaceutical company. Lise provided hours of testimony in depositions about the details of Beth’s personal and professional life. Lise gave the federal prosecutors all the evidence they needed to prove Beth was personally responsible for the fraudulent marketing activities that netted her company billions of dollars in ill-gotten gains.
“What about Lise?” I ask.
“Well, Lise was a sweet girl,” Beth says, “but you know as well as I do—she wasn’t very bright. I’ve been talking to Juanita about my case, and there’s one thing neither of us can figure out. How in the world did someone like Lise—a foreigner with barely a high school education—even get the idea to file a whistle-blower lawsuit?”
That’s a good question. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.
“The only answer we could come up with,” Beth says, leaning into me, “is that someone—or maybe someones—must have put her up to it. And, Hannah, I need you to help me figure out who it is.”
“Hey, you two, not so close,” the guard barks at us.
I quickly pull myself away from Beth. My cheeks feel flushed.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why would someone want to send me to prison?” Beth asks. “You tell me. Jealousy? The multimillion-dollar reward? Who knows?”
“No, I mean...your case is closed. You can’t undo your plea. So what does it matter?”
“You’re right—the government’s case against me is closed,” Beth says, “but remember that girl in California? The one who died?”
How could I forget about the girl in California—a fresh-faced teenager from a town outside Bakersfield who died of anorexia, allegedly caused by the drugs that Beth’s company manufactured and sold. How could anyone forget? The girl’s grieving parents have become regular fixtures on cable news, sharing their unthinkable loss in front of a phalanx of cameras.
“My lawyers are worried they’re going to file a wrongful death lawsuit against me,” Beth says, “and that they’ll find a witness who’ll corroborate their claims.”
I know from my work at the law firm that private lawsuits for wrongful death have a lower standard of proof than criminal prosecutions—preponderance of evidence rather than beyond a reasonable doubt—and California’s liberal juries are infamous for granting huge damage awards. A jury verdict could wipe out whatever is left of Beth and Sam’s savings. It could ruin them forever.
“What’s the statute of limitations on wrongful death?” I ask.
“In California, two years from the date of death,” Beth says, “which means there’s still over a year on the clock for the girl’s family to file suit. Over a year for them to find a witness who’ll testify against me.”
“Do you think Lise would testify?” I ask.
“They can’t force her to testify, and she has no reason to do it. Lise’s already gotten her millions in whistle-blower reward and hightailed it back to Sweden. I’m not worried about her. I’m worried she had an accomplice.”
“But why ask me? I’m not a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a lawyer. I need someone to help me find Lise’s accomplice so I can get to them before the other side’s lawyers do.”
“I’m not a detective either.”
“Hannah, let me be blunt. Based on the government’s case against me, I’m pretty sure someone very close to me convinced Lise to blow the whistle. Whoever that person is, I need to get to them first, before the girl’s family in California does, so I can convince them not to testify. All I’m asking is that you keep an eye out and let me know if anyone acts suspicious.”
“Five minutes,” the guard calls out.
The other inmates start saying goodbye to their guests. There’s a flurry of activity all around. I try to stand up to leave, but Beth won’t let me.
“Hannah,” she says, “there’s no one else I can ask. Will you help me?”
* * *
“I don’t get it,” Tracy says. “Who’d want to send your sister-in-law to prison?”
Tracy is the assistant librarian at my law firm and one of my few friends at work. I don’t usually talk about my personal life with my coworkers, but Tracy’s curiosity was piqued by my back-to-back vacations. I’ve never taken so much time off from work before. Tracy kept poking and prodding until I finally had to confess about Beth being in prison.