Текст книги "Sycamore Row"
Автор книги: John Grisham
Соавторы: John Grisham
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
“That’s more than I’ll net in the next ten years.”
“Not the way you’re billing. You must think you’re a big-firm lawyer.”
“I’d rather dig ditches, Judge.”
“So would I.” For a few silent moments he smoked and signed his name, alternating between puffing and scribbling. When the stack was finished, he said, “Let’s talk about next week. Is everything in order?”
“As far as I know. Lettie’s deposition is set for Monday and Tuesday. Herschel Hubbard is Wednesday, his sister Thursday, and Friday we’ll do Ian Dafoe. That’s a pretty grueling week. Five straight days of depositions.”
“And you’re using the main courtroom?”
“Yes sir. There’s no court, and I’ve asked Ozzie to give us an extra deputy to keep the doors closed. We’ll have plenty of room, which of course we’ll need.”
“And I’ll be right here in case there’s trouble. I do not want any witnesses in the room while another witness is being deposed.”
“That’s been made clear to all parties.”
“And I want them all on video.”
“It’s all arranged. Money is no object.”
Judge Atlee chewed on the pipe stem and was amused by something. “My oh my,” he mused. “What would Seth Hubbard think if he could look in next Monday and see a roomful of hungry lawyers fighting over his money?”
“I’m sure he’d be sick, Judge, but it’s his own fault. He should’ve split things up, taken care of his kids and Lettie and anybody else he wanted, and we wouldn’t be here.”
“You think he was crazy?”
“No, not really.”
“Then why’d he do it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Sex?”
“Well, my new intern thinks not, and this girl has been around the world. It’s her mother, but she’s not naive.”
There was actually a prohibition against such a conversation. Among the many antiquated sections of the Mississippi Code, one of the more famous, at least among lawyers, was titled Earwigging the Chancellor Prohibited. In simple English, it prohibited a lawyer from discussing sensitive areas of a pending case with the presiding judge in the absence of the lawyer for the other side. The rule was routinely violated. Earwigging was common, especially in the chambers of Chancellor Reuben V. Atlee, but only with a few preferred and trusted lawyers.
Jake had learned the hard way that what was said in chambers stayed there and was of no importance in open court. Out there, where it counted, Judge Atlee called them fair and straight, regardless of how much he’d been earwigged.
22
Just as Judge Atlee imagined the scene, old Seth would indeed have been upset, had he been a fly on the wall. No fewer than nine lawyers gathered in the courtroom early Monday morning to formally kick off discovery in the case now known on the docket as In re Estate of Henry Seth Hubbard. In other words, nine lawyers sharpening their knives for a slice of the pie.
In addition to Jake, those present were Wade Lanier and Lester Chilcott, from Jackson, representing Ramona Dafoe. Stillman Rush and Sam Larkin, from Tupelo, representing Herschel Hubbard. Lanier was still pressuring Ian to pressure Ramona to pressure Herschel to ditch the Tupelo lawyers and join forces, but such efforts so far had only led to more tension in the family. Lanier was threatening to bolt if the two allies could not join forces, but his threats were losing steam. Ian suspected there was simply too much money in the pot for any lawyer to walk away. Herschel’s children were represented by Zack Zeitler, a Memphis lawyer also licensed in Mississippi. He brought along a useless associate whose only role was to fill a chair, scribble nonstop, and convey the impression that Zeitler had resources. Ramona’s children were represented by Joe Bradley Hunt, from Jackson, and he dragged along an associate similar to Zeitler’s. Ancil, also in at five, was still presumed dead, and thus unrepresented and not mentioned.
Portia was one of three paralegals in the courtroom. Wade Lanier and Stillman Rush brought the other two, both white males, same as everybody else except for the court reporter, who was a white woman. “The courtroom is owned by the taxpayers,” Jake had told Portia. “So act like you own the place.” She was trying, but she was still a nervous wreck. She was expecting tension, maybe harsh words, an atmosphere pervaded by competition and distrust. What she saw, however, was a bunch of white men shaking hands, swapping friendly insults, poking fun, laughing, and having a good time as they drank their coffee and waited on 9:00 a.m. If there was any edginess as they were about to begin their war over a fortune, it was not evident.
“It’s just depositions,” Jake had said. “You’ll be bored out of your mind. Death by deposition.”
In the center of the courtroom, between the bar and the bench, the tables had been joined together, with chairs crammed around them. The lawyers slowly found their places, though no seating was assigned. Since Lettie would be the first witness, Jake sat near the empty seat at the end. At the other end, the court reporter fiddled with a video camera as a clerk entered with a full pot of coffee and sat it on the table.
When everyone was in place and somewhat settled, Jake nodded at Portia who opened a side door and retrieved her mother. Lettie was dressed for church and looked great, though Jake had told her she could wear anything. “It’s just a deposition.”
She sat at the end of the table, with Jake close by on one side, the court reporter on the other side with her stenographic machine, and her daughter not far away. She looked down the long table, smiled at the horde of lawyers, and said, “Good morning.” Every single lawyer returned the greeting with a smile. Off to a good start.
But only for a second. As Jake was about to start the preliminaries, the large main door opened and Rufus Buckley walked in, briefcase in hand as if he had business there. The courtroom was empty—not a single spectator—and it would remain so upon the order of Judge Reuben Atlee. Obviously, Buckley wasn’t there to observe.
He walked through the swinging gate of the bar and took a seat at the table. The other nine lawyers watched suspiciously.
Jake was suddenly itching for a fight. He called out loudly, “Well, hello, Rufus. So nice to see you out of jail these days.”
“Ha-ha, Jake. Such a comedian.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the deposition. Can’t you see?” Buckley shot back.
“Who do you represent?”
“The same client I’ve had for a month. Simeon Lang.”
“He’s not an interested party.”
“Oh, we think he is. We think it might need to be litigated, but our position is that Mr. Lang has a direct pecuniary interest in the will contest. That’s why I’m here.”
Jake stood and said, “Okay, let’s stop right where we are. Judge Atlee is on standby in case there’s trouble. I’ll run fetch him.” Jake left the courtroom in a hurry and Buckley settled into his seat, somewhat nervously.
Minutes later, Judge Atlee entered from behind the bench, minus his robe, and took his usual position. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said gruffly and without waiting for any response said, “Mr. Buckley, using as few words as possible, please tell me why you’re here.”
Buckley stood with his customary purpose, and said, “Well, Judge, we still represent Mr. Simeon Lang and—”
“Who’s we?”
“Mr. Booker Sistrunk and myself, along—”
“Mr. Sistrunk will not be appearing in this courtroom, Mr. Buckley, not in this matter anyway.”
“Okay, well, then our position hasn’t changed. Mr. Simeon Lang is a party to these proceedings and—”
“He is not, nor will I allow him to become a party. Therefore, Mr. Buckley, you are not representing an interested party.”
“But that has not been finally determined.”
“It certainly has. By me. You have no business here, Mr. Buckley. And this deposition is closed.”
“Come on, Judge, it’s just a deposition, not some secret meeting. The testimony will be added to the court file and available to the public.”
“That’s for me to decide at some future date.”
“Judge, what she says today will be sworn testimony, and it will become a part of the record in this case.”
“Don’t lecture me, Mr. Buckley.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“These depositions will be sealed until I review them. Frankly, Mr. Buckley, I don’t like being put in the position of having to argue with you. Need I remind you of what happened the last time you said too much in this courtroom?”
“No need for that, Judge,” Buckley said.
“Good day, Mr. Buckley,” the judge said at full volume.
Buckley stood helplessly, in disbelief, both arms outstretched as if stunned. “Seriously, Judge?”
“Dead serious, Mr. Buckley. Good day, sir.”
Buckley nodded, reached for his briefcase, and made a hasty retreat from the courtroom. When the main door closed behind him, Judge Atlee said, “Carry on,” and disappeared.
Everyone took a deep breath. Jake said, “Now, where were we?”
“I kinda miss Sistrunk,” Wade Lanier drawled, and got a few laughs.
“I’m sure you do,” Jake said. “He and Buckley would have scored well with a Ford County jury.”
Jake introduced Lettie to the court reporter, the other lawyers, all names and faces blurred by the sheer number, and he went into a lengthy explanation of the purposes of a deposition. The instructions were fairly simple. Please speak clearly, slowly, and if a question isn’t clear, ask that it be restated. If uncertain, say nothing. He, Jake, would object to anything objectionable, and please answer truthfully because you’re under oath. The lawyers would take turns with their questioning. If you need a break, just say so. The court reporter would take down every word, and the video camera would record the entire deposition. If for some reason Lettie was not able to testify at trial, the video would be used as evidence.
The instructions were necessary, and then they were not. Jake, Portia, and Lucien had rehearsed with Lettie for hours in the conference room at the office. She was well prepared, though in a deposition it was impossible to predict what might be discussed. At trial, all testimony must be relevant. Not so in a deposition, which often turned into a prolonged fishing expedition.
Be polite. Be concise. Don’t volunteer. If you don’t know, then you don’t know. Remember the camera catches everything. And I’ll be right beside you for protection, Jake had said over and over. Portia had gone to the attic and found dozens of old depositions that she had spent hours poring over. She understood the technicalities, the strategies, and the pitfalls. She and her mother had talked for hours on the back porch of the old Sappington house.
Lettie was as prepared as possible. After she was sworn by the court reporter, Wade Lanier introduced himself with a sappy smile and began the questioning. “Let’s start with your family,” he said. Names, current residences, birth dates, birthplaces, education, employment, children, grandchildren, parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles. Lettie and Portia had rehearsed thoroughly and the answers came easily. Lanier paused at one point when he realized Portia was her daughter. Jake explained, “She’s an intern in my office. Paid.” This caused some concern around the table. Stillman Rush finally asked, “Does this pose a conflict, Jake?”
Jake had thought it over long ago. “Not at all. I represent the estate. Portia is not a beneficiary under the will. I see no conflict. Do you?”
“Is she going to be a witness?” Lester Chilcott asked.
“No. She was away in the Army for the past six years.”
Zack Zeitler asked, “Will she have access to certain information her mother perhaps should not see?”
“Such as?”
“I can’t give you an example right now. I’m just speculating. I’m not saying there’s a conflict here, Jake, I’m just sort of caught off guard.”
“Have you informed Judge Atlee?” Wade Lanier asked.
“I did last week, and he approved.”
End of conversation. Wade Lanier took off again with questions about Lettie’s parents, and grandparents. His questions were soft and easy, quite conversational, as if he were truly interested in where her maternal grandparents once lived and what they did for a living. After an hour, Jake fought the temptation to daydream. It was important for him to take notes in the event another lawyer, hours from now, inadvertently stepped into the same territory.
Back to Lettie. She finished high school in 1959 in Hamilton, Alabama, at the old colored school. She ran away to Memphis and met Simeon. They married right away and Marvis was born the following year.
Wade Lanier spent some time on Marvis: his criminal record, convictions, incarceration. Lettie got choked up and wiped her cheeks, but did not break down. Next came Phedra and her problems: two children born out of wedlock, Lettie’s first two grandkids; an employment history that was sketchy at best. Phedra was currently living at home; in fact she’d never really left. Her two children had different fathers who were out of the picture.
Portia flinched with questions about her older brother and her sister. These were not secrets, but they were not openly discussed either. The family whispered about such matters, yet here they were being kicked about by a bunch of white men, strangers all.
At 10:30, they broke for fifteen minutes and everyone scattered. The lawyers ran to find phones. Portia and Lettie headed for the ladies’ room. A clerk brought in a fresh pot of coffee and a tray of store-bought cookies. The tables already resembled a landfill.
When they resumed, Stillman Rush took the handoff and dwelled on Simeon, whose family was more complicated. Lettie admitted she did not know as many details about his ancestors. His work history was filled with gaps, but she did recall stints as a truck driver, dozer operator, pulpwood cutter, painter, and brick mason’s helper. He’d been arrested a couple of times, the most recent being last October. Misdemeanors, no felonies. Yes, they had separated several times, but never for more than two months.
Enough of Simeon, for now anyway; Stillman wanted to follow up with Lettie’s résumé. She worked for Seth Hubbard off and on, part-time and full-time, for most of the past three years. Before that, she worked for three years as a housekeeper in the Clanton home of an old couple Jake had never heard of. Both died within three months of one another, and Lettie was out of work. Before that, she worked as a cook in the middle school cafeteria in Karaway. Stillman wanted dates, wages, raises, bosses, every minute detail, and Lettie did the best she could.
Seriously? Portia asked herself. How could the name of my mother’s boss ten years ago possibly be important to this will contest? It would be a fishing expedition, Jake had said. Welcome to the mind-numbing dullness of deposition warfare.
Jake had also explained that depositions drag on for days because the lawyers are being paid by the hour, or at least the ones who are asking the banal and monotonous questions. With virtually no restrictions on what can be explored, and with their meters running, lawyers, especially those working for insurance companies and big corporations, have no interest in being concise. As long as they can keep the conversation close to a person, issue, or thing remotely connected to the lawsuit, then they can peck away for hours.
However, Jake had also explained that the Hubbard case was different because the only lawyer working by the hour was him. The others were there on a prayer and a percentage. If the handwritten will were to be invalidated, the money would revert to the family under the prior will, and all those lawyers would take a cut. Since the other lawyers had no guarantee they would be paid, he suspected their questions might not be so tedious.
Portia wasn’t so sure about that. Tedium was closing in from all directions.
Stillman liked to bounce around, probably in an effort to keep the witness off balance. He woke up the crowd with “Now, did you borrow money from your former attorney, Booker Sistrunk?”
“I did.” Lettie knew the question was coming and answered it without hesitation. There was no law or rule against such a loan, not on the receiving end anyway.
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“Did he write you a check or was it in cash?”
“Cash, and we, Simeon and I, signed a promissory note.”
“Was this the only loan from Sistrunk?”
“No, there was a prior loan for $5,000.”
“Why did you borrow money from Mr. Sistrunk?”
“Because we needed the money. I lost my job, and with Simeon you never know.”
“Did you take the money and move into a larger house?”
“We did.”
“And how many people now live in that house?”
Lettie thought for a moment, and said, “Usually around eleven, but the number varies. Some come and go.”
Jake glared at Stillman as if to say, “Don’t even think about wanting all eleven names. Can we just move along?”
Stillman was tempted, but moved along. “How much are you paying in rent?”
“Seven hundred a month.”
“And you’re unemployed as of today?”
“Correct.”
“Where is your husband working right now?”
“He’s not.”
“Since Mr. Sistrunk is no longer your lawyer, how do you plan to repay him?”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
Roxy had sandwiches and chips ready for lunch, and they ate in the conference room where Lucien joined them. “How’d it go?” he asked.
“The usual first round of worthless questions,” Jake said. “Lettie was great but she’s already tired.”
Lettie said, “I can’t do this for another day and a half.”
“Modern discovery,” Lucien said in disgust.
“Tell us how it was back in the old days, Lucien,” Jake said.
“Well, back in the old days, and the old days were much better than all these new rules you got now—”
“I didn’t write them.”
“You weren’t required to divulge all of your witnesses and describe what they were going to say, no sir. It was trial by ambush. You get your witnesses, I’ll get mine, and we’ll show up at the courthouse and have us a trial. It made you a better lawyer too because you had to react on the fly. Nowadays, everything has to be fully disclosed and every witness has to be available for a deposition. Think of the time. Think of the expense. It was far better back then, I swear it was.”
“Why don’t you take a large bite of that sandwich?” Jake said. “Lettie needs to relax and no one can relax when you’re on your soapbox.”
Lucien took a small bite and asked, “What’d you think, Portia?”
She was nibbling on a chip. She laid it down and said, “It’s pretty cool, I mean, being in a room full of that many lawyers. Makes me feel important.”
“Don’t be too impressed,” Jake said. “Most of those guys couldn’t try a shoplifting case in city court.”
“I’ll bet Wade Lanier can,” Lettie said. “He’s smooth. I get the impression he knows what I’m gonna say before I say it.”
“He’s very good,” Jake admitted. “Believe me, Lettie, we will learn to despise him. He seems to be a nice guy now, but you won’t be able to stand the sight of him before this is over.”
The thought of a long fight seemed to deflate Lettie. Four hours into the initial skirmish, and she was already exhausted.
During lunch, two ladies from the clerk’s office assembled a small artificial Christmas tree and placed it at the far rear corner of the courtroom. From where Jake was sitting at the table, he had a clear, unobstructed view of the tree. At noon each Christmas Eve, most of the Circuit and Chancery Court clerks and judges, and a few handpicked lawyers, gathered back there for egg nog and gag gifts. It was a gathering Jake tried his best to avoid.
The tree, though, reminded him that Christmas was only days away, and the thought of shopping had not yet crossed his mind, at least not until then. As Wade Lanier plowed ahead in a voice so low and dry that it was practically a sedative, Jake caught his mind drifting away to the holidays. For the past two years, they had struggled to decorate their rental and bring it alive for the holidays. Hanna helped tremendously. Having a child around the house kept everyone’s spirits up.
Lanier moved into a sensitive area. Slowly, skillfully, he probed into Lettie’s duties around the house when Mr. Hubbard was sick with the chemo and radiation and confined to his bed. Lettie explained that a home-health-care agency sent nurses over to tend to him, but these women were not good, not considerate enough, and Mr. Hubbard was quite rude. She didn’t blame him. He ran them off and had fights with the agency. Eventually, Lettie took over his care. She cooked whatever he wanted, and fed him when he needed help. She helped him out of bed and to the bathroom, where he sometimes sat on the toilet for half an hour. He had accidents, and she cleaned his bed. On several occasions, he was forced to use a bedpan, and Lettie tended to him. No, it was not pleasant work and she was not trained in such ways, but she managed. He appreciated her kindness. He trusted her. Yes, on several occasions she bathed Mr. Hubbard in his bed. Yes, a complete bath, touching everywhere. He was so sick and hardly awake. Later, when they stopped the chemo and radiation for a while, he regained his strength and began moving around as soon as possible. He bounced back with an amazing determination. No, he never quit smoking.
Intimacy can kill our case, Jake had explained to Portia in blunt terms, which were then filtered through daughter to mother. If the jury believes Lettie got too close to Seth Hubbard, they’ll have no trouble finding she unduly influenced him.
Was Mr. Hubbard affectionate with her? Was he one to hug, peck on the cheek, pat on the rear end? Not in the least, Lettie said. Never. Her boss was a hard man who kept to himself. He had little patience with other people and needed few friends. He did not shake Lettie’s hand when she arrived for work in the morning, nor did he offer her even a semblance of an embrace when saying good-bye. She was his employee, nothing more: not a friend, nor confidante, nor anything else. He was polite and he thanked her when appropriate, but he was never a man of many words.
She knew nothing of his business, nor his social affairs. He never spoke of another woman and Lettie never saw one in his home. In fact, she could not remember a single incident when a friend or business acquaintance came to the house, not in the three years she worked there.
Perfect, Jake said to himself.
Bad lawyers tried to trick witnesses, or pin them down, or confuse them, all in an effort to win the deposition. Good lawyers preferred to win at trial, and used depositions as a means to gather information that could be used to set traps later. Great lawyers skipped depositions altogether, and orchestrated beautiful ambushes in front of the jury. Wade Lanier and Stillman Rush were good lawyers, and they spent the first day collecting data. During eight hours of direct examination, there was not the first cross word, not the first hint of disrespect for the witness.
Jake was impressed with his opponents. Later, in his office, he explained to Lettie and Portia that both Lanier and Rush were basically acting. They were presenting themselves as friendly guys who really liked Lettie and were just searching for the truth. They wanted Lettie to like them, to trust them, so that at the trial she might drop her guard. “They’re a couple of wolves,” he said. “At trial, they’ll go for your throat.”
Lettie, exhausted, asked, “Jake, I won’t be on the stand for no eight hours, will I?”
“You’ll be ready.”
She had her doubts.
Zack Zeitler led off the following morning with a series of probing questions about Mr. Hubbard’s last days. He struck pay dirt when he asked, “Did you see him on Saturday, October 1?”
Jake braced himself for what would follow. He had known it for several days, but there was no way to avoid it. The truth was the truth.
“I did,” Lettie answered.
“I thought you said you never worked on Saturdays.”
“That’s right, but Mr. Hubbard asked me to come in that Saturday.”
“And why was that?”
“He wanted me to go to his office with him, to clean it. The regular guy was off sick and the place needed cleaning.” Around the table, Lettie’s response was far more effective than the morning coffee. Eyes opened, spines stiffened, rear ends inched to the edges of chairs, a couple of telling glances were exchanged.
Smelling blood, Zeitler pressed on cautiously. “What time did you arrive at Mr. Hubbard’s house?”
“Around nine that mornin’.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he wanted me to go with him to his office. So we got in the car and went to his office.”
“Which car?”
“His. The Cadillac.”
“Who drove?”
“I did. Mr. Hubbard asked me if I’d ever driven a new Cadillac. I said no. I had said somethin’ earlier about how nice the car was, and so he asked me if I wanted to drive it. At first I said no, but he handed me the keys. So I drove it over to the office. I was a nervous wreck.”
“You drove him over?” Zeitler repeated. Around the table all heads were low as the lawyers scribbled furiously, their minds spinning. In perhaps the most famous will contest in the history of the state, the beneficiary, who was not a blood relative, actually drove the dying person to the lawyer’s office to sign a will that cut out all family and left everything to the beneficiary, the driver. The Supreme Court invalidated the last will on the grounds of undue influence, and gave as a significant reason the fact that the “surprise beneficiary” had been so involved in the making of the new will. Since that court decision thirty years earlier, it was not unusual for a lawyer to ask “Who drove him over?” when an unexpected will was discovered.
“Yes,” she said. Jake watched the other eight lawyers as they reacted exactly as he anticipated. It was a gift to them, and a hurdle for him to clear.
Zeitler carefully arranged some notes, then said, “How long were you in his office?”
“I didn’t look at no clock, but I’d say a couple of hours.”
“Who else was there?”
“No one. He said they usually didn’t work on Saturdays, at least not in the office.”
“I see.” For the next hour, Zeitler probed through that Saturday morning. He asked Lettie to draw a diagram of the office building to establish where she cleaned and where Mr. Hubbard spent the time. She said he never left his office and the door was shut. No, she did not go in there, not even to clean. She did not know what he was working on or what he was doing in his office. He came and went with his everyday briefcase, but she had no idea what was in it. He appeared to be clearheaded, certainly able to drive if he’d wanted, and she knew little about his pain medications. Yes, he was frail and weak, but he had gone to the office every day that week. If anyone else saw them at the office, she was not aware of it. Yes, she drove the Cadillac back to Mr. Hubbard’s house, then she went home, arriving there around noon.
“And he never mentioned the fact that he was writing his last will?”
“Objection,” Jake said. “She’s already answered that twice.”
“Okay, yes, well, I just wanted to make sure.”
“It’s in the record.”
“Sure.” Having scored big, Zeitler was reluctant to move on. He established that Lettie drove the Cadillac on that day only; she rarely saw pill bottles or drugs around the house; she suspected he kept his meds in his briefcase; at times he was in severe pain; he never talked about suicide; she never witnessed bizarre behavior that would suggest he was under the influence of medications; he was not a drinker but occasionally kept a few beers in the refrigerator; and he kept a desk in his bedroom but almost never worked at home.
By noon Tuesday, Lettie was ready to quit. She had a long lunch in Jake’s office, again with Portia, then took a nap on a sofa.
Death by deposition continued on Wednesday as Jake took charge and quizzed Herschel Hubbard for several hours. The morning session dragged on with stultifying dullness, and it didn’t take long to establish that Herschel had accomplished little and taken few chances in his career. His divorce had been the most exciting event in his life. Such hot topics as his education, work experiences, businesses, former homes and apartments, relationships, friends, interests, hobbies, religious convictions, and political leanings were covered in depth and proved to be stunningly boring. Several of the attorneys nodded off. Portia, in her third day of real legal action, struggled to stay awake.
After lunch, the lawyers reluctantly returned to the courtroom for another session. Jake managed to liven things up a bit when he began trying to pin down how much time Herschel had spent with his father in the past several years. Herschel tried to give the impression he and the old man were close, but had trouble recalling specific visits. If they spoke so often on the phone, what might the phone records reveal? Jake asked. Any cards and letters from Seth? Herschel was sure he had them but he wasn’t so sure he could produce them. His lawyers had instructed him to be as vague as possible, and he succeeded beautifully.
On the subject of Lettie Lang, Herschel claimed to have been around her quite often, during his many visits to see his beloved father. In his opinion, Seth was quite fond of her. He admitted he never saw them touch in any way, but there was something in the way they looked at each other. What, exactly? Not sure, but just something between them. She was always listening, always in the shadows trying to eavesdrop. And as his father got sicker, he depended more and more on Lettie, and they grew closer. Jake asked if he was suggesting they were intimate. “Only Lettie knows that,” Herschel replied, implying, of course, the obvious.
Portia fumed as she glanced around the table. She assumed that every person there, except for Jake, believed her mother was sleeping with a withered and decaying old white man, and doing so to get his money. But Portia kept her head low, and, as a professional, maintained a poker face as she filled another page with notes that would never be reviewed.
Seven hours of probing were more than enough to establish Herschel Hubbard was a less than interesting person who’d had a strained and distant relationship with his father. He was still living with his mother, still reeling from a bad divorce, and, at the age of forty-six, barely surviving on the income from a student hangout. What Herschel desperately needed was an inheritance.
