Epilogues
About a year after the birth of Jamala Golightly-Sun, a tell- all book about her elders is published by HarperCollins.
Aptly titled Flying Too Close to the Suns, Shannon Shoo’s memoir chronicles her unlikely ascent, starting from DTLA bottle girl, to Sun Clan ingenue, to now the New
Age leader of the revamped MiNT Wellness—after its disgraced founder SANTI was finally sent to Terminal Island with a litany
of colorful convictions.
The book generates a lot of buzz thanks to Shannon’s harrowing allegations against the named family. Some of them fall flat.
Galahad Fang’s corpse, for example, had been discovered after Big Bear Lake thawed and led to the conclusion that he had been
mauled to death by, well, a big bear. Yet in her book, Shannon claims that Galahad was actually brutally murdered by the Suns,
offering no evidence other than conjecture, which catches her a lot of flak on social media.
Where her exposé does do the most harm are her revelations of the Suns and their strange superstitions, namely those of their matriarch, Roses Sun.
Most damningly, Shannon alleges that for a year, Roses neglected her duties as Sunfang Global CEO to instead oversee an occult competition between the Sun cousins, in which they were forced to reproduce and produce baby boys for an ancient deity that Roses worships called the Hungry Ghost. (Tragically, as Shannon exclusively reveals in Flying Too Close, she miscarried her and Sunbern’s child.)
In the conspiracy age of Epstein’s island and Diddy’s freak-offs, these allegations catch fire and spark an international
uproar, plunging Sunfang Global into irreparable scandal. Longtime investors pull out their shares, generational clients drop
like flies, and Roses Sun’s own board members turn on her.
In truth, nearly all these people know well that the accusations are ridiculous exaggerations. But after Roses had first promoted
her gay nephew to president with his green sustainability objectives, there were already rumblings that she had strayed too
far from Sunfang’s traditional values. Hence, when Roses announced that her transgender nephew would replace Wayward Sun as
president—suffice to say, many take the opportunity of Shannon’s book as an easy excuse to wipe their hands clean of the declining
Sunfang Global once and for all.
“Cono de la madre!”
Staring out at the glistening skyscraper metropolis of S?o Paulo from the Sunfang Promessa headquarters, Bessie Machado curses
to herself as she slams her office phone onto the receiver.
“What’s up, jefa?”
She turns as Wayward Sun enters, impeccably fitted in a suit as chic as hers. They sit across from each other at the round
conference table in her spacious but welcoming office.
“I just heard from Caracas,” Bessie says, taking a bitter shot of espresso. “The environmental ministro is pulling his support
from our proposal there.”
Wayward sips his iced Americano. “Bessie, it’s not even been two years yet, and Promessa already has branches in Bolivia, Peru, and Colombia. You’ve already accomplished so much. I understand your personal stakes when it comes to Venezuela, but it’s just too politically unstable there.”
Bessie sets down her cup with an irritated clink. “Even if I wasn’t Venezuelan, deforestation is accelerating in that
country and the whole purpose of Promessa is for us to go to the sources of the problem and . . .” She pauses and then demands,
“Why are you smiling?”
“Sorry, I just love it when you boss up,” Wayward replies. “Jefa!”
Bessie rolls her eyes. “You know I feel weird when you call me that. Yes, we negotiated that I’d be Promessa president, but
that’s because I didn’t expect you to be working here too.”
Her vice president smiles even wider. “You know I love a plot twist.”
“Anyway,” Bessie continues, “with all the drama surrounding Sunfang Global, I just want to make sure Promessa stays the course.
Thank god you had to find our own investors, because we’re basically the only sail left on this ship.”
“Isn’t it ironic,” Wayward muses, “that because Sunfang Global refused to fund our progressive pipe dream, we are now their
most stable subsidiary?”
“Exactly!” Bessie says. She leans in toward him, her eyes alight with ambition. “So, VP, help me get Venezuela.”
Wayward leans in too. “We’re already on it, jefa!”
Three thousand miles away in Caracas, Lola Sun sits in a dark apartment, waiting. On the table next to her is her motorcycle
helmet.
From outside, keys jingle. The doorknob clicks, and an older man enters, wearing a suit and tie. He puts down his briefcase.
“Hello, Ministro.”
The man sputters in surprise when he sees her. “?Quién cono eres tú?”
Lola takes off her sunglasses. “I’m your new friend, Ministro. From S?o Paulo.”
Upon seeing the diminutive Lola, the Venezuelan laughs, now unthreatened. “And why would I need una muchachita like you for
a new friend?” Loosening his tie, he sits across from her at his table. “S?o Paulo, you say? You must be from Promessa. I
already told your boss that I cannot help, as admirable as your cause might be.”
Lola purses her lips. “It’s a shame that an environmental official won’t protect his own environment.”
Once again, he laughs. “Muchachita, this is Caracas! Today I am ministro, tomorrow I could be muerto. Dead, you understand?
I am not going to—how do you say it?—go out on a limb for a foreign company.” He pulls a cigarette out of a wooden box on
the table and lights it. “Especially one that is on its last leg, from what I hear.” He takes a drag. “I need to look out
for myself.”
Suddenly, Lola reaches into her pocket, and he tenses.
But she simply pulls out her Sunfang phone. “I’m looking out for you too, Ministro. I came here to show you something.” She
places the phone on the table and slides it toward him.
The Venezuelan shakes his head, refusing to look. “Read a newspaper here, muchachita. You would have better luck blackmailing
a dog on a street than you would anyone in our government.”
Lola shrugs. “Fine. I just thought you’d want to know about your daughter-in-law.” She reaches out for the phone.
Instantly his hand is over hers. “What are you talking about? My son’s wife?”
Lola nods. “You never did approve of their marriage, did you, Ministro? But back then, her family’s status served you well
in your career, and your son truly does love her.” She turns the phone back toward him, tapping the screen. A paused video
pops up.
“Go on,” he says, staring intently at her.
“But now, her family is a liability to you, aren’t they? The new regime hates them, and your association with them is holding you back.” Lola taps the screen again. “Wouldn’t it be great to have some leverage to free your son from this most disadvantageous union?”
The video begins to play. On the balcony of a hotel room overlooking an ocean, filmed from a secret location, a buxom young
woman bounces up and down on a tall, muscular man.
“That’s her!” the ministro exclaims. “How did you get this?”
His daughter-in-law is now on all fours facing the camera, and behind her there is a clear shot of her illicit lover from
the neck down, displaying a prominent tattoo inked across his chest.
The ministro makes a face. “Who is Shannon?”
Lola snatches away the phone, putting it back into her pocket. She grabs her motorcycle helmet from the table. “Good day,
Ministro.”
“Wait, wait. Sit back down, por favor.” The Venezuelan leans back. “I have decided to reconsider your Promessa proposal.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “But I must say, your methods are most unconventional, muchachita.”
Lola Sun flashes her megawatt smile. “Let’s just say that my people really understand the power of family.”
On the top floor of the Sunfang Global Building in Century City, Fenix Sun is intently working at his desk outside of Roses’s
office when the elevator dings. Without looking up from his keyboard, he says, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Shouldn’t you be in a corner office somewhere?”
At the sound of this familiar voice, Fenix’s head snaps up, and his lovely face brightens immediately. “Ape! And Meadow!”
Standing before him in a chic blue-and-white blazer is April Sun. Next to her, with a grinning mouth full of braces, is her
daughter, Meadow, who is pushing a stroller.
Fenix leaps up to greet April. The cousins hug. Meadow tugs on Fenix’s suit sleeve. “Mommy says I should call you Uncle Fenix now.”
Fenix laughs and kisses Meadow on the forehead. “Just Fenix is fine, sweetie.”
“Let me look at you,” April says warmly, her hands on Fenix’s shoulders. She giggles. “No wonder poor Sunbern fled to South
America—what man would want to be in the same room as you?”
Fenix blushes. “Stop it.”
“Anyone special in your life these days?”
“There’s only room for one person in my life, and you can guess who that is. But I’m learning a lot from her. It’s been tough
around here, as you know. I gotta pull my weight.” He peeks into the stroller to see an adorable baby boy. “This must be Clark!”
Clark Sun gurgles back at him.
“He’s very burpy today,” Meadow declares.
“Is that Meadow I hear?” Roses calls out from her office.
Bouncing baby Clark on her knee with one arm while with the other she smooths down Meadow’s hair, Roses lets out a deep sigh.
“Thank you for coming,” she says to April. “Finally, I meet your son.”
Between them on Roses’s Qing Dynasty antique table is a plate of untouched guava slices.
Petting a luxuriating Houyi next to her on the sofa, April inspects her mother. Roses has lost a lot of weight, and her famously
onyx-black hair has silvery streaks running through it now. No doubt the fallout of Shannon Shoo’s book has taken a toll on
the Sun matriarch.
“You’re welcome,” April replies. “How is everyone?”
“We’re all getting older,” Roses says, with a bit of sadness. “Teddy needs bypass surgery.”
April sighs. “I’ll make sure to take Meadow to see him.”