Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Skole, Your Honor. Skole, Rumky, Ratliff, Bodini, and Zacharias.”
“Sorry I asked. Continue.”
“And we represent the interests of the two minor children of Ramona and Ian Dafoe,
grandchildren of the deceased.”
“Okay. Anyone else?”
Necks craned and eyes scanned the crowd. Judge Atlee did some quick math and said,
“A dozen. I count eleven lawyers so far, and there is no reason to believe there won’t be
more.” He shuffled some papers and looked at the spectators in the courtroom. To his
left, behind Jake and Lettie, there was a crowd of black people, including Simeon, their
kids and grandkids, some cousins and aunts, Cypress, a preacher, and a lot of friends,
old and new, who were there to provide moral support for Lettie as she took the first
step in fighting for what was rightfully hers. To His Honor’s right, across the aisle,
behind the throng of lawyers gearing up to oppose the last will, there was a crowd of
white people, including Ian and Ramona and their two children; Herschel and his two
kids; his ex-wife, though she was on the back row as far away as possible; Dumas Lee
and another reporter; and the usual collection of courthouse regulars who rarely missed
a trial or a contested hearing. Deputy Prather stood at the main door, sent there by
Ozzie to hear it all and report back later. Lucien Wilbanks sat on the back row on the
black side, partially hidden by a beefy young man in front of him. He and Atlee went
back many years, and Lucien did not want to be a distraction.
Minutes before they began, Jake had attempted to politely introduce himself to
Herschel and Ramona, but they had rudely turned their backs. He was the enemy now,
not their father. Ian in particular looked as if he might throw a punch. Their teenage
children were turned out in the finest preppy fashions and gave every impression of
bearing the arrogance of inherited wealth. Herschel’s two children, on the contrary,
were ill-kempt and grungy. Just days earlier, the four had been too busy to attend the
funeral of their beloved grandfather. Now, though, their priorities had suddenly shifted.
Jake figured the lawyers had impressed upon the families the need for the kids to be
there, to be seen, to be closely identified with the consequences of the court’s actions. A
waste of time, in his opinion, but then the stakes were high.
At the moment, in a crowded courtroom, Jake felt very alone. Next to him, Russell
Amburgh was uncooperative, hardly civil, and planning a quick exit from the
proceedings. Behind him, only inches away, sat Lettie, a person he thought he could talk
to. She, though, was being guarded by a couple of pit bull lawyers who were ready for
an alley fight over the fortune. And these were the people on his side of the room!
Across the aisle, an entire pack of hyenas was waiting to pounce.
Judge Atlee said, “I’ve read both wills. We will proceed with the last one, the
handwritten will dated October 1. A petition to probate it was filed on October 4. Mr.
Brigance, you will begin the administration of the estate as required by law—posting
the notification to creditors, filing a preliminary inventory, and so on. I expect this to be
done promptly. Mr. Amburgh, I understand you wish to step aside.”
Amburgh slowly stood and said, “That’s right, Judge. I have no stomach for this. As
the executor I would be required to take an oath in which I swear that this is the valid