Sycamore Row

here to see you.” From the terrace, Jake had watched them storm out of the courthouse and march in his direction.
    “Do they have an appointment?”
    “No sir, and they say it’s urgent.”
    “I’m in a meeting which will take another thirty minutes,” Jake said in his empty office. “They’re welcome to wait.”
    Roxy, who’d been quickly briefed, put the phone down and delivered the message. The lawyers frowned and exhaled and fidgeted and finally decided to step out for some coffee. At the door, Stillman said, “Please explain to Mr. Brigance that this is an urgent matter.”
    “That’s already been done.”
    “Yes, well, thanks.”
    Jake heard the door close solidly and smiled to himself. They would be back and he looked forward to the meeting. He returned his attention to the latest weekly edition of
The Ford County Times
, published early each Wednesday morning and a rich source of local news. On the front page, below the fold, there was a brief story about the death of Mr. Seth Hubbard, an “apparent suicide.” The reporter had followed leads and done some digging. Unnamed sources whispered that Mr. Hubbard had once had extensive holdings in lumber, furniture, and timber rights throughout the Southeast. He had unloaded most of his assets less than a year ago. No one from his family had returned calls. There was a portrait photo of Seth as a much younger man. He looked nothing like the poor guy hanging from a rope in Ozzie’s grisly death scene photos. But, then, who would?
    Twenty minutes later the lawyers were back. Roxy parked them in the conference room on the first floor. They stood by the window and watched the languid prelunch traffic around the square and waited. Occasionally, they would whisper to one another, as if the room had bugs and someone else might be listening. Finally, Mr. Brigance entered and welcomed them. There were forced smiles and stiff but courteous handshakes, and when they were finally seated Roxy asked about coffee or water. Everyone declined, and she closed the door and disappeared.
    Jake and Stillman had finished law school at Ole Miss ten years earlier, and though they had known each other during that ordeal, and often had classes together, they ran in different circles. As the favored son in a family who owned a law firm claiming to be a hundred years old, Stillman’s future was secure before he briefed his first case in Contracts. Jake and virtually all of the others were forced to scramble for employment. To his credit, Stillman worked hard to prove himself and graduated in the top 10 percent. Jake was not far behind. As lawyers, their paths had crossed once since law school when Lucien ordered Jake to file an unpromising sex discrimination case against an employer, one represented by the Rush law firm. The outcome was a draw, but during the process Jake came to despise Stillman. He’d been tolerable in law school, but a few years in the trenches had made him a big shot in a big firm with the requisite ego. He wore his blond hair a bit longer now and it flipped up around his ears, contrasting nicely with the fine black wool suit he was wearing.
    Jake had never met Mr. McGwyre or Mr. Larkin, but he knew them by reputation. It was a small state.
    “To what do I owe this honor, gentlemen?” Jake began.
    “Oh, I think you’ve figured it out by now, Jake,” Stillman replied smugly. “I saw you at Mr. Hubbard’s funeral yesterday. We’ve read his holographic will and it’s rather self-explanatory.”
    “It’s deficient in many ways,” Lewis McGwyre inserted gravely.
    “I didn’t prepare it,” Jake shot across the table.
    “But you’re offering it for probate,” Stillman said. “Obviously you must think it’s valid.”
    “I have no reason to think otherwise. The will came to me in the mail. I was directed to probate it. Here we are.”
    “But how can you advocate for something as shoddy as this?” Sam Larkin asked, gently lifting a copy of the will. Jake glared at him with all the contempt he could generate. Typical big-firm asshole. Far superior to the rest of us because you bill by the hour and get paid for it. In your well-educated and learned opinion this will is “shoddy” and thus invalid; therefore, everyone else’s opinion should fall in line.
    Jake kept his cool and said, “It’s a waste of time for us to sit here and debate the merits of Mr. Hubbard’s handwritten will. Let’s save that for the courtroom.” And with that,