Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Kamila said, “He got pretty aggressive, too, almost demanding that we tell our stories
a certain way. He really wanted us to say that Seth was unbalanced because of all the
drugs.”
Dewayne, smoke pouring from his nostrils, said, “At one point he placed his briefcase
on Arlene’s desk, upright, in an odd position, and made no effort to open it. He’s trying
to tape this, I said to myself. He’s got a recorder in there.”
“No, he wasn’t too smooth,” Arlene said. “We believed him at first, you know. Guy
comes in wearing a nice dark suit, says he’s a lawyer, hands over his card, and seems to
know a lot about Seth Hubbard and his business. He insisted on talking to the three of us
at the same time, and we didn’t know how to say no. So we talked, or, rather, he talked.
We did most of the listening.”
“How would you describe this guy?” Jake asked. “Age, height, weight, so on.”
The three looked at each other with great reluctance, certain that there would be little
agreement. “How old?” Arlene asked the others. “I’d say forty.”
Dewayne nodded and Kamila said, “Yes, maybe forty-five. Six feet, thick, I’d say two
hundred pounds.”
“At least two hundred,” Dewayne said. “Dark hair, real dark, thick, kinda shaggy—”
“Needed a haircut,” Arlene said. “Thick mustache and sideburns. No glasses.”
“He smoked Camels,” Dewayne said. “Filters.”
“I’ll track him down and find out what he’s up to,” Jake said, though by then he was
fairly certain there was no lawyer named Reed Maxey. Even the dumbest of lawyers
would know that such a visit would lead to sure trouble and an ethics investigation.
Nothing added up.
“Should we talk to a lawyer?” Kamila asked. “I mean, this is something new for me,
for us. It’s kinda scary.”
“Not yet,” Jake said. He planned to get them one-on-one and hear their stories. A
group talk might sway the narrative. “Perhaps later, but not now.”
“What’ll happen to this place?” Dewayne asked, then noisily filled his lungs.
Jake walked across the open space and roughly yanked open a window so he could
breathe. “Why can’t you smoke outside?” Kamila hissed at the vice president. It was
obvious the smoking issue had been roiling for some time. Their boss had been dying of
lung cancer and his office suite smelled like burned charcoal. Of course smoking was
permitted.
Jake walked back, stood before them, and said, “Mr. Hubbard, in his will, directed his
executor to sell all of his assets for fair value and reduce everything to cash. This
business will continue operating until someone buys it.”
“When will that happen?” Arlene asked.
“Whenever the right offer comes along. Now, or two years from now. Even if the
estate gets bogged down in a will contest, Mr. Hubbard’s assets will be protected by the
court. I’m sure word is out in these parts that this business will go on the block. We
might get an offer in the near future. Until then, nothing changes. Assuming, of course,
that the employees here can continue to run things.”
“Dewayne’s been running it for five years,” Arlene said graciously.