Sycamore Row - John Grisham

een there.
“It’s very sad,” she said.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Two years. Seth was a nice man, and a good boss.”
“I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”
Arlene Trotter appeared from a hallway and offered a hand. She was around fifty but
completely gray; a little heavy but fighting it. Her matching pantsuit was a decade out
of style. They chatted as they walked deeper into the hodgepodge of offices. “That’s his,”
she said, pointing to a closed door. Her desk was right beside the door, literally guarding
it. “His records are over there,” she added, pointing to another door. “Nothing has been
touched. Russell Amburgh called me the night he died and said to secure everything.
Then the sheriff stopped by the next day and said the same thing. It’s been very quiet
around here.” Her voice cracked for a second.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ll probably find his books in good order. Seth kept good records of everything,
and as he got sicker he spent more time organizing everything.”
“When did you last see him?”
“The Friday before he died. He was not feeling well and he left around 3:00 p.m. Said
he was going home to rest. I heard he wrote that last will here. Is that right?”
“That appears to be correct. Did you know anything about it?”
She paused for a moment and seemed unable, or unwilling, to answer. “Can I ask you
a question, Mr. Brigance?”
“Sure.”
“Whose side are you on? Are we supposed to trust you, or do we need our own
lawyers?”
“Well, I don’t think more lawyers is a good idea. I am the attorney for the estate,
chosen by Mr. Hubbard, and instructed by him to make sure his last will, the
handwritten will, is honored and followed.”
“And that’s the will that gives everything to his maid?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Okay, what’s our role in this?”
“You don’t have a role in the administration of his estate. You might be called as a
witness if the will is contested by his family.”
“As in a trial, in a courtroom?” She took a step back and seemed frightened.
“It’s possible, but it’s too early to worry about it. How many people here worked with
Seth on a daily basis?”
Arlene wrung her hands and collected her thoughts. She leaned back and situated
herself on the corner of her desk. “Me, Kamila, and Dewayne. That’s about it. There are
some offices on the other side, but those guys didn’t see much of Seth. To be honest, we
didn’t see much of him either, not until the past year when he was sick. Seth preferred to
be on the road, checking his factories, his timber, running after his deals, flying to
Mexico to open another furniture plant. He really didn’t like to stay at home.”
“Who kept up with him?”