Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“I’m not his lawyer, okay? Never have been. I can’t represent the estate of Seth
Hubbard and also represent Simeon Lang, the husband of one of the beneficiaries.”
“Then why did you show up in court on October 19 to request a postponement of his
drunk driving case?”
“It was a favor. I’m not his lawyer, okay Dumas?”
“Why has the case been postponed for four months?”
“I’m not the judge.”
“I’ll talk to him later,” Dumas fired back.
“You do that. No further comment.” Jake abruptly turned around and walked away.
Dumas followed and kept talking, saying, “Look, Jake, you’d better talk to me because
this is gonna look bad.”
Jake turned around again and they squared off in the center of the corridor. Jake
caught himself, took a deep breath, and said, “Don’t draw any conclusions, Dumas. I
haven’t touched the DUI case in four months because I’m not his lawyer. If you will
recall, at the time he was represented by those clowns from Memphis. Not by me. So
please be careful here.”
Dumas was scribbling furiously. Jake wanted to punch him. Everything was suddenly
forgotten by screams from the other end of the building.
Bo Roston was pronounced dead at 4:15 a.m.