Sycamore Row - John Grisham

office, one of three empty ones upstairs. It had not been used in many years, not since
the old Wilbanks firm was in its glory. Portia was wide-eyed as she took in the fine
wooden desk and handsome but dusty furnishings. “Who was the last lawyer here?” she
asked, looking at a faded portrait of an ancient Wilbanks.
“You’ll have to ask Lucien,” Jake replied. He had not spent five minutes in the room
in the last ten years.
“This is awesome,” she said.
“Not bad for an intern. The phone guy is coming today to get you plugged in. After
that, you’ll be in business.”
They spent half an hour going over the rules: phone use, lunch breaks, office protocol,
overtime, et cetera. Her first task was to read a dozen Mississippi cases involving will
contests that were tried before juries. It was important that she learn the law and the
lingo, and to understand how her mother’s case would be handled. Read the cases, then
read them again. Take notes. Absorb the law and become well versed in it so
conversations with Lettie would be more meaningful. Lettie would be by far the most
crucial witness at the trial, and it was important to begin laying the groundwork for her
testimony. The truth was paramount, but as every trial lawyer knew, there were various
ways of telling the truth.
As soon as Jake turned his back, Lucien barged into her office and made himself at
home. They had met the day before; introductions were not necessary. He rambled on
about how wise it was to ditch the Memphis lawyers and go with Jake, though in his
opinion it would be a tough case to win. He remembered he’d represented one of her
father’s cousins, a Lang, twenty years earlier in a criminal matter. Kept the boy out of
prison. Great lawyering. That led to another story about a shooting that involved four
men, none of them remotely related to Portia, as far as she could tell. By reputation, she
knew Lucien, like everyone else, as the old drunk lawyer who’d been the first white
person to join the local NAACP and who now lived with his maid in the big house on the
hill. Part legend, part scoundrel, he was a man she never thought she would meet, and
here he was chatting with her (in her office!) as if they were old friends. For a while, she
listened respectfully, but after an hour began wondering how often these visits might
occur.
While she listened, Jake was locked in his office with Quince Lundy, reviewing a filing
that would be known as the First Inventory. After a month of digging, Lundy was
convinced the First Inventory would greatly resemble the final one. There were no
hidden assets. Seth Hubbard knew when and how he would die, and he made certain he
left behind adequate records.
The real estate appraisals were complete. At the time of his death, Seth owned (1) his
home and 200 acres around it, valued at $300,000; (2) 150 acres of timberland near
Valdosta, Georgia, valued at $450,000; (3) 400 acres of timberland near Marshall,
Texas, valued at $800,000; (4) a vacant bay-front lot north of Clearwater, Florida,