Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“We’ll carry on,” he said.
“Good. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back into the records.” The three
thanked him and left.
Thirty minutes later, as Arlene puttered at her desk, Jake walked over and said, “I’d
like to see his office.” She waved her arm and said, “It’s unlocked.” Then she stood and
opened the door for Jake. It was a long narrow room, with a desk and chairs at one end
and a cheap conference table at the other. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of wood on
display: heart-pine walls and flooring, stained to a bronze-like finish; darker oak
bookshelves along the walls, many of them empty. There was no ego wall—no diplomas
because Seth had earned none; no civic club awards; no photos with politicians. In fact,
there was not a single photo anywhere in the office. The desk appeared to be a custommade
table with drawers, and the top of it was virtually bare. One stack of papers and
three empty ashtrays.
On the one hand, it was what you would expect from a country boy who had
managed to put together some assets in his later years. On the other hand, it was hard
to believe that a man worth $20 million wouldn’t have a nicer office.
“Everything’s neat and tidy,” Jake said, almost to himself.
“Seth liked things in order,” Arlene said. They walked to the far end where Jake
pulled a chair away from the conference table and said, “Got a minute?” She sat down
too as if she had been expecting a conversation and was looking forward to it.
Jake pulled over a phone and said, “Let’s call this Reed Maxey guy, okay?”
“Okay. Whatever.” You’re the lawyer.
Jake dialed the number on the business card, and to his surprise got a receptionist,
who announced the name of a large, well-known Jackson law firm. Jake asked for Mr.
Reed Maxey, who evidently worked there because she said, “One moment please.” The
next female voice said, “Mr. Maxey’s office.” Jake gave his name, and asked to speak to
the lawyer. “Mr. Maxey is out of town and won’t be back until Monday,” she said.
Turning on the charm, Jake explained the basics of what he was doing and, with a hint
of gloom, said he was afraid someone might be impersonating Mr. Reed Maxey. “Was he
in Ford County last Tuesday?” he asked.
“Oh, no. He’s been in Dallas on business since Monday.” Jake said he had a physical
description of her boss, and proceeded to describe the impostor. At one point, the
secretary chuckled and said, “No, no, there’s some mistake. The Reed Maxey I work for
is sixty-two years old, bald, and is shorter than me and I’m five nine.”
“Do you know of another lawyer in Jackson named Reed Maxey?” he asked.
“No, sorry.”
Jake thanked her and promised to call her boss next week for a more in-depth
discussion. When he hung up he said, “Just what I thought. The guy was lying. He was
not a lawyer. He may be working for one, but he’s a fake.”
Poor Arlene just stared at him, unable to put words together. He went on, “I have no
idea who the guy is and we’ll probably never see him again. I’ll try and find out, but we
may never know. I suspect he was sent by someone involved in the case, but I can only
speculate.”