THE VIRTUOUS CON

by Maren Foster

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would not have been possible without the encouragement, guidance, and constructive criticism of many wonderful women and my beloved husband.

  To my earliest readers, Rebecca Geissler and Connie Magnuson, you slogged through shit and came out the other end with smiles on your faces and invaluable insights, and for that I am grateful. Thank you for your perseverance and willingness to focus on potential!

  A huge thank you to my talented editor, Susan McBride, whose attentive editing was critical to the story and the final result. I am incredibly grateful to my beta readers who stuck with me and provided invaluable feedback and moral support, just when I thought it might never be quite complete: Bonita Sen, Julie Montgomery, Martha Spaulding, and my very best (and toughest) critics, Vesna Rogulja and Martin Rogulja.

  For early feedback and direction: Eva Hershaw, Amy Seeboth, Laura Gilbert, Mary Penn, Jessica Albers, Leanne Fox, Natalie Cahill, Meridith Aiello, and Victoria Solomon. A big shout out to my style consultants, Anne Gilbert and Nora Massey. For instrumental guidance on the industry and this business of storytelling and publishing: Kate Colbert and Leslie McLean.

  Finally, a big thank you to my parents and my husband, without whom nothing is possible.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Maren Foster is a former management consultant turned author. She is an alumna of the University of Washington in Seattle with degrees in English Literature and Psychology. Maren is interested in what drives human behavior and motivates every action and reaction. She writes fast-paced thrillers with empowered female leads, and lives in Chicago with her husband and two cats. This is her debut novel. For more information and to stay up to date on new stories by Maren please visit:

  www.marenfoster.com

  Notes

  The sermon on forgiveness in The Put-Up (Sunday, June 28, 2015)is adapted from What Does the Bible Really Say about Forgiveness? by Maria Mayo, M.Div., Ph.D. in the Huffington Post, published on 07/29/2011 and updated Sep 28, 2011. It was accessed online on 8/15/2020.

  THE VIRTUOUS CON

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  Note: In order to fully explore the central themes and issues of The Virtuous Con, it is necessary to describe key aspects of the plot and ending. It is recommended that the questions that follow be reviewed only after you have finished reading The Virtuous Con.

  According to the largest anti-sexual violence organization in the United States, RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network), there are, on average, more than 400,000 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault in the United States each year. Among undergraduate students, 23.1 percent of females and 5.4 percent of males experience rape or sexual assault through physical force, violence, or incapacitation. Yet, only 20 percent of female student victims, age 18-24, report the assault to law enforcement.

  1. Why do you think so few female college students report sexual assault and rape to the police?

  2. What factors influenced Wyn’s decisions to get a rape kit done and then lie to detectives?

  3. What do you think you would do in Wyn’s particular situation? Do you think you would report the rape or not? If not, why?

  According to RAINN, 37 percent of victims of sexual violence experience problems with family and/or friends after an assault. These can include getting into arguments more frequently than before, not feeling able to trust their family and/or friends, or not feeling as close to them as before the assault.

  4. How does Wyn’s relationship with her sister change after the assault?

  5. How does the reaction of her roommate, Krista, at the time of the assault, impact Wyn’s decision about whether or not to report Nate to the police?

  6. Why do you think women, in the past, have been so hesitant to support and believe other women when they come forward to report sexual assault?

  The ‘me too’ movement was founded in 2006, by Tarana Burke, to help survivors of sexual violence, particularly Black women and girls, and other young women of color from low wealth communities, find pathways to healing. The ‘me too’ movement continues to focus on helping those who need it to find entry points for individual healing and galvanize a broad base of survivors to disrupt the systems that allow for the global proliferation of sexual violence.

  7.How do you think the #MeToo movement has changed how women view victims of sexual assault? Has it changed the way that men and/or individuals with power view victims of sexual assault?

  8.How do you think high profile verdicts—such as the Harvey Weinstein and Brock Turner verdicts—have impacted or will impact the way that victims are treated when they come forward with accusations of sexual assault now and in the future?

  9.What still needs to change in order for the victim and the accused to be treated fairly and for justice to be done through the legal system?

  10.Wyn makes a difficult decision not to provide the police with critical information that would help them solve the case of who raped her, effectively stalling the investigation and allowing Nate to walk free and continue to rape and assault other women. Is Wyn culpable for the assaults that Nate commits after her rape? Are Wyn’s actions justified? What would you do if you were in Wyn’s position?

  11.Wyn’s actions conflict with her religious beliefs. How does Wyn’s view and understanding of forgiveness change over time? How does she reconcile her actions with her faith?

  12.Wyn finds and reads her mother’s diary without her permission. How does what Wyn learns about her mother’s life experiences influence her own decisions and behavior? How does it impact Wyn’s relationships with her sister and her mother?

  13.Throughout most of Wyn’s relationship with Nate, she believes that she has the upper hand. What does Wyn’s marriage to Nate, and his revelation about the state of their shared finances highlight? How does her memoir figure into her ability to exact justice?

  14.Wyn uses DNA evidence from the rape to ultimately deliver Nate to the authorities. As of 2017, all fifty states had post-conviction DNA collection laws, but only thirty states had enacted pre-conviction DNA collection laws. Pre-conviction DNA testing differs in these thirty states, with some states testing the accused upon arrest, and some upon arraignment. Pre-conviction DNA testing has led to some high profile convictions for past crimes committed, however, opponents argue that this practice circumvents a detainee’s right to a presumption of innocence until proven guilty. Do you believe that pre-conviction DNA testing should be allowed?

  15.The title of the book, The Virtuous Con, makes clear that this is the story of a confidence artist at work. Which characters can be considered con artists at which points in the story? Is Wyn’s con really virtuous? Why or why not?

  16.What did you think of the ending? Is justice achieved in the end? Do the means justify the ends?

  Notes

  Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Bureau of Justice Statistics, National Crime Victimization Survey, 2018 (2019). Note: RAINN applies a 5-year rolling average to adjust for changes in the year-to-year NCVS survey data.

  David Cantor, Bonnie Fisher, Susan Chibnall, Reanna Townsend, et. al. Association of American Universities (AAU), Report on the AAU Campus Climate Survey on Sexual Assault and Sexual Misconduct (September 21, 2015).

  https://metoomvmt.org/

  Hu, Xiaochen, et al. “Pre- and Post- Conviction DNA Collection Laws in the United States: An Analysis of Proposed Model Statutes.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Law, vol. 1, no. 1, Jan. 2017, pp. 23–42., www.uhd.edu/academics/public-service/jcjl/Pages/Journal-of-Criminal-Justice-and-Law.aspx.

  1-3RAINN. Accessed online (18 July 2020). https://www.rainn.org/about-sexual-assault

  Read on for a sneak peak at Maren Foster’s new thriller...

  I AM ASHLEY CLARKE’S MOTHER

  Available for pre-order Spring 2022

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  The kitchen was quiet
, eerily quiet compared to the night before. I tiptoed toward the coffee maker as if on eggshells, even though A.J. was still in his room upstairs. Picking up a stray piece of broken picture glass from under a bar stool, I remembered the sound it made as A.J. smashed the picture frame of the three of us against the granite counter. It was supposed to be my night. The best night I’d had in years, and it was, until I got home.

  “A.J., time to go!” I yelled.

  I miss my happy, sweet little boy, I thought as I picked up what was left of the photo of us: a two-year-old A.J., with idyllic curls, between me and his father Dustin, dressed in his army fatigues. I wish it wasn’t like this too.

  “Come on!” I yelled. “You’ll be late.”

  “I’m ready,” he said standing in the hallway, dressed entirely in black, with his guitar case strung over his shoulder.

  I still love you, even if I hate this rebellious phase you’re in.

  “Oh, there you are. Okay. Don’t forget that I have a PTO meeting tonight after work. There’s a meatloaf in the fridge for dinner. Help yourself when you get home.”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you doing with your guitar? You know I don’t want you going over to John’s house after school anymore.”

  “He’s in the band and we have nowhere else to go to practice.”

  “It’s a band now? Who else is playing with you guys?”

  “No one.”

  “Can it really be called a band if it’s only two people?”

  He followed me into the garage.

  “Local H, I Set My Friends on Fire, Middle Class Rut?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bands with two guys.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “That’s because you’re old and lame. How about Simon and Garfunkel?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Uh huh. But we’re not a band, right?”

  “Get in the car,” I said. “Please.”

  We drove towards the high school in silence.

  “Stop here! I told you to stop here!” he yelled as we approached the corner of Oakwood and 3rd.

  I pulled over quickly. I can’t handle another fight right now.

  “Love you. Don’t forget about the meatloaf,” I yelled as he jumped out of the car to catch up with John, who was hallway down the block, walking toward the high school.

  I don’t like that kid but I guess I’d rather he have a friend than no friends at all. I had encouraged A.J. to join a sports team when we first moved to the neighborhood, but he’d never been very coordinated and was still scrawny, even for a sixteen year old.

  I drove the mile across town to work, clutching my coffee mug. My new job at the insurance company already felt old, although it had been almost a year since we’d moved to the large suburb outside of Kansas City. I had read that it was one of the best places to raise a family, and we had to get away from that girl. He’s such a good kid. Why does he always seems to attract bad apples? At least he hasn’t talked about enlisting to follow in his dad’s footsteps yet. I can’t bear losing him too.

  “Tammy!” I said on my way to my desk. “You’re not gonna believe what happened last night!”

  “Morning Sweetie! What happened?”

  “This!” I said, holding out my left hand proudly.

  “Oh my God! He did it!” she squealed.

  I nodded and grinned as she admired my engagement ring.

  “Oh my God, congratulations!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh Sweetie, I’m so happy for you!”

  She hugged me and I held on tight.

  “Tell me all about it,” she said, settling back into her chair.

  “He took me to Magnolia for dinner and then we walked over to the carousel as the sun was setting. They were closing up but he begged for one ride and the guy let us on. He helped me up onto the most beautiful horse and then got down on one knee in front of a glorious pink sky. It was really beautiful.”

  “Wow! I knew it was only a matter of time!”

  “I guess so.”

  “And?” she asked.

  “And what?”

  “Did you tell A.J.?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “Not good.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Morning,” our boss offered sternly from across the room.

  “Yeah, morning.” I said and powered on my computer.

  I finished off my cup of coffee and settled in, trying to find motivation to dig into the pile of receipts on my desk from our President’s last business trip.

  “Oh my God, Dee!” Tammy yelled. “There’s been a shooting. At the high school.”

  What?

  She was in front of my desk, cell phone in hand, reading out loud, “Reports of shots fired at Fairview High. Emergency services arrived on the scene at 10:35am.”

  “Are you sure it’s Fairview?”

  “It says ‘Fairview High’. Says it’s ongoing.”

  Oh my God. A.J.!

  “Go!” she urged. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said and grabbed my purse.

  Speeding toward the high school, I hit traffic on Front Street. A uniformed police officer was directing the line of cars into an overflow parking lot about two blocks from the high school. I parked behind another s.u.v. and realized that my hand was shaking as I popped the car into park. This can’t be happening. Not here. We came here because it was safe.

  Parents emerged from their cars with looks of shock, stubborn disbelief, and confusion. I watched from my car as they formed little groups, huddling close together and nodding as they exchanged intelligence and reassurances. News crews descended on the faded parking lot and began to approach the groups of parents.

  I hesitated to join them, fearing what they may or may not know, but as I sat alone my thoughts ran wild: A.J. alone in the school somewhere; A.J. injured; or worse yet, A.J. dead. I can’t bear it. I got out and floated tentatively between groups of parents that I recognized, but none of whom I knew personally.

  A younger woman was in the center of one group, reading social media posts and messages from students inside the high school, the parents around her frozen listening: “I can hear them shooting down the hall. I don’t want to die.” “I love you Mom and Dad. I love you Teeny.” One of the moms broke down in tears and was comforted by her husband. A woman screamed across the parking lot, letting out a howl that sounded animalistic. Panic engulfed the anxious crowd. Parents comforted other parents as they got word of their children’s fate.

  A woman pulled out her cell phone. “Oh my God! It’s a text from Nicole! She’s okay.” Tears of joy overwhelmed her and provided a momentary calm for those around her.

  I pulled out my smart phone and pretended to pull up A.J.’s profile. He’d given up on social media years ago as a preteen, when online bullying had reduced him to tears for the third or fourth time. Instead I pulled up the local news stations feed: First responders on the scene, reports of two shooters, students at the high school. Multiple casualties. At least ten reported dead on the scene. Jesus Christ! The shooters go to school here. I looked up at the high school and saw a few young people running toward the parking lot. A.J.? but he wasn’t in the crowd.

  I watched as more students streamed from the school toward the parking lot. As they got closer I could see their tear stained cheeks. They began to locate their parents in the now full parking lot. The camera crews invaded their euphoric reunions with microphones and spotlights.

  The reunions were more than hugs and kisses, they were a sort of rebirth of children into the safety of their parents’ arms. They had survived, and as the realization of how lucky they were washed over them, they entered the world anew, although they would never be the same. They shook with the shock of knowing.

  Where is A.J.? Is he hurt? Or worse? I remembered yelling ‘I love you’ to him as he got out of the car less
than three hours earlier. At least I said ‘I love you’ this morning. Oh God. Stop it. I don’t know that he’s hurt.

  My fatalistic train of thought was interrupted by a girl a few feet away, in her mother’s arms saying, “It was them. You know. It was the two of them. I can’t believe they did it, but I guess if anyone would, it would be them. I hope they’re dead now.”

  Them? Who?

  “Dee! Oh my God! Dee!” Krystal Jenkins yelled from across the parking lot, as she made her way toward me. Krystal was on my PTO committee. She was the kind of mom that thinks she can solve every problem, no matter how large or whose privacy may need to be invaded in the process. Overbearing would be polite.

  God, not now!

  I forced a smile and nodded.

  “What about A.J.?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Oh my God. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Are you? Why are you so sure? Innocent children are dead. Mine might be one of them.

  “What about Eliza?” I asked.

  “She texted a little while ago that she was okay but we haven’t seen her yet,” she said, clearly worried.

  “She’s probably on her way out now,” I said, as I looked toward a line of high schoolers walking toward us.

  “Yes.”

  As the students made their way across the fields that separated the parking lot from the school I thought about A.J.. I know I haven’t always been a perfect mom, but you’re all I have. Please be okay. I need you.

  Emotional reunions played out again and again around me. As I watched the tears of joy, fear, and relief, I thought about my husband, Dustin, and the tears of sorrow and fear that I had shed on that cool autumn day when the news came that he’d died honorably, serving in a vast, lonely desert half a world away. A.J. was too young to understand what had happened, so I lied at first. His dad had been away on one tour after another since he was born, so for my innocent five-year-old son it was just another day, but it broke my heart every time he asked when his daddy was coming home. As he got older I would find him staring at a framed photo of his dad in the desert in his army fatigues and camo helmet, with a rifle perched against his chest.