Sycamore Row - John Grisham

The debate had raged for an hour, unabated, and tempers were on edge. In fact, the
issue had been hotly discussed for a month with no shortage of opinions. It was almost
10:00 p.m. The conference table was littered with notes, files, books, and the remains of
a bad take-out pizza they had devoured for dinner.
Should the jury be told the value of Seth’s estate? The only issue at trial was whether
the handwritten will was valid. Nothing more, nothing less. Legally, technically, it
didn’t matter how big or how small the estate was. On one side of the table, the side
being occupied by Harry Rex, the strong feeling was that the jury should not be told
because if the jurors knew that $24 million was in play and about to be given to Lettie
Lang, they would balk. They would naturally take a dim view of such a transfer of
wealth outside the family. Such a sum was so unheard-of, so shocking, that it was
inconceivable that a lowly black housekeeper should walk away with it. Lucien, while
absent, agreed with Harry Rex.
Jake, though, felt otherwise. His first point was that the jurors probably had a hunch
that a lot of money was on the table, though virtually all had denied such knowledge
during the selection process. Look at the size of the fight. Look at the number of lawyers
on deck. Everything about the case and the trial was evidence of big money. His second
point was that full disclosure was the best policy. If the jurors felt as though Jake was
trying to hide something, he would start the trial with an immediate loss of credibility.
Every person in the courtroom wants to know what the brawl is about. Tell them. Lay it
out. Withhold nothing. If they concealed the size of the estate, then the size of the estate
would become a festering and unspoken issue.
Portia went back and forth. Before the jury was seated, she was leaning in favor of a
full disclosure. But after looking at the ten white faces, and only two black ones, she
was struggling to believe they had any chance at all. After all the witnesses had
testified, after all the lawyers had been silenced, after all the wise words had been
uttered by Judge Atlee, could those ten white people reach deep and find the courage to
uphold Seth’s last will? At the moment, fatigued and weary, she was doubtful.
The phone rang and she answered it. “It’s Lucien,” she said, handing it to Jake, who
said, “Hello.”
From Alaska came the report: “Got him, Jake. Our pal here is Ancil Hubbard, one and
the same.”
Jake exhaled and said, “Well, I guess that’s good news, Lucien.” He pulled the receiver
away and said, “It’s Ancil.”
“What are you guys doing?” Lucien asked.
“Just prepping for tomorrow. Me, Portia, Harry Rex. You’re missing the party.”
“Do we have a jury?”
“Yes. Ten whites, two blacks, no real surprises. Tell me about Ancil.”
“Pretty sick puppy. His head wound is infected and the doctors are concerned. Tons of
meds, antibiotics and painkillers. We played cards all day and talked about everything.
He sort of comes and goes. I finally mentioned the will and told him his big brother left
him a million bucks. Got his attention and he admitted who he is. Half an hour later he’d
forgotten about it.”