by John Grisham
“Good morning,” she said as happily as possible. A blind person could see that the next hour would be most unpleasant.
The leader, the oldest, growled, “We’re looking for Samantha Kofer.” He took a step forward, as did the other three.
Still smiling, she said, “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
A sister whipped out a folded document and asked, “Did you write this for Francine Crump?”
The other brother added, “It’s our mother’s will.” He seemed ready to spit in her face.
They followed her into the conference room and gathered around the table. Samantha politely offered them coffee, and when all four refused she went to the kitchen and slowly poured herself a cup. She was stalling, waiting for someone else to arrive. It was 8:30, and normally Mattie would be holed up in her office chatting with Donovan. Today, though, she doubted Mattie would arrive before noon. With a fresh cup, she sat at the end of the table. Jonah, age sixty-one, lived in Bristol. Irma, age sixty, lived in Louisville. Euna Faye, age fifty-seven, lived in Rome, Georgia. Lonnie, age fifty-one, lived in Knoxville. DeLoss, the “baby” at forty-five, was living in Durham, and at the moment he was home with Momma, who was very upset. It had been a rough Thanksgiving. Samantha took notes and tried to burn some clock so they might take a breath and settle down. After ten minutes of one-way chitchat, though, it was obvious they were itching for a fight.
“What the hell is the Mountain Trust?” Jonah asked.
Samantha described the trust in great detail.
Euna Faye said, “Momma said she ain’t never heard of no Mountain Trust. Said you’re the one who come up with it. That so?”
Samantha patiently explained that Mrs. Crump sought her advice on how to bequeath her property. She wanted to leave it to someone or some organization that would protect it and keep it from being strip-mined. Samantha did her research and found two nonprofits in Appalachia that were appropriate.
They listened carefully but did not hear a word.
“Why didn’t you notify us?” Lonnie demanded rudely. Fifteen minutes into the meeting it was apparent that there was no real pecking order in this family. Each of them wanted to be in charge. Each was trying to be the chief hard-ass. Though she was on her heels, Samantha stayed calm and tried to understand. These were not wealthy people; in fact they were struggling to stay in the middle class. Any inheritance would be a windfall, one that was certainly needed. The family plot was eighty acres, far more than any of them would ever own.
Samantha explained that her client was Francine Crump, not the family of Francine Crump. Her client did not want her children to know what she was doing.
“You think she don’t trust us, her own flesh and blood?” demanded Irma.
Based on her conversations with Francine, it was abundantly clear she did not trust her own children, flesh and blood be damned. But Samantha calmly replied, “I only know what my client told me. She was very clear with what she wanted and didn’t want.”
“You’ve split our family, you know that?” Jonah said. “Driven a wedge between a mother and her five children. I don’t know how you could do something so underhanded.”
“It’s our land,” Irma mumbled. “It’s our land.”
Lonnie tapped the side of his head and said, “Momma ain’t right, you know what I mean. She’s been slipping for some time, probably Alzheimer’s or something like that. We were afraid she might do something crazy with the land, you know, but nothing like this.”
Samantha explained that she and two other lawyers in the clinic had spent time with Mrs. Crump on the day she signed her will, and that all three were convinced she knew precisely what she was doing. She was “legally competent,” and that’s what the law requires. The will would stand up in court.
“The hell it will,” Jonah shot back. “It ain’t going to court because it’s gonna be changed.”
“That’s up to your mother,” Samantha said.
Euna Faye looked at her phone and said, “They’re here, DeLoss and Momma. Parked outside.”
“Can they come in?” Lonnie asked.
“Of course,” Samantha said, because there was nothing else to say.
Francine looked even weaker and feebler than she had a month earlier. All five siblings stood and tried to help their beloved mother as she shuffled through the front door, down the hallway, and into the conference room. They placed her in a chair and gathered around her. Then they all looked at Samantha. Francine adored the attention and smiled at her lawyer.
Lonnie said, “Go ahead, Momma, and tell her what you told us about signing the will, about how you don’t remember it, and—”
Euna Faye interrupted, “And about how you never heard of no Mountain Trust and you don’t want them to get our land. Go ahead.”
“It’s our land,” Irma said for the tenth time.
Francine hesitated as if she needed even more prodding, and said, finally, “I really don’t like this will anymore.”
And what have they done, old woman, tied you to a tree and flogged you with a broom handle? Samantha wanted to ask. And how was Thanksgiving dinner, with the entire family passing around the new will and frothing in apoplectic fury? Before she could respond, though, Annette walked into the room and said good morning. Samantha quickly introduced her to the Crump brood, and just as quickly Annette read the situation perfectly and pulled up a chair. She never backed down from a confrontation, and at that moment Samantha could have hugged her.
She said, “The Crumps are unhappy with the will we did last month.”
Jonah said, “And we’re unhappy with you lawyers, too. Just don’t understand how you can go behind our backs and try to cut us out like this. No wonder lawyers got such a bad reputation everywhere. Hell, you earn it every day.”
Coolly, Annette asked, “And who found the new will?”
Euna Faye replied, “Nobody. Momma was talking about it the other day, one thing led to another, and she got out the will. We near ’bout died when we read what you folks had put in it. Going back to when we was kids Momma and Daddy have always said the land would stay in the family. And now you guys try and cut us out, give it to some bunch of tree huggers over in Lexington. You ought to be ashamed.”
Annette asked, “Did your mother explain that she came to us and asked us to prepare, at no charge, a will leaving the land to someone else? Was she clear about this?”
DeLoss said, “She’s not always too sharp these days.”
Francine glared at him and snapped, “I’m sharper than you think I am.”
“Now Momma,” Euna Faye said as Irma touched Francine to calm her.
Samantha looked at Francine and asked, “So, do you want me to prepare a new will?”
All six nodded their heads in unison, though Francine’s nodded at a noticeably slower pace.
“Okay, and I assume that the new will leaves the land to your five children in equal shares, right?”
All six agreed. Annette said, “That’s fine. We’ll be happy to do just that. However, my colleague here spent several hours meeting with Mrs. Crump, consulting and preparing the current will. As you know, we don’t charge for our services, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have limits. We have a lot of clients and we’re always behind with our work. We will prepare one more will, and that’s it. If you change your mind again, Mrs. Crump, then you’ll have to go hire another lawyer. Do you understand?”
Francine looked blankly at the table while her five children nodded yes.
“How long will it take you?” Lonnie asked. “I’m missing work right now.”
“So are we,” Annette said sternly. “We have other clients, other business. In fact, both Ms. Kofer and I are due in court in thirty minutes. This is not a pressing matter.”
“Oh come on,” Jonah barked. “It’s just a simple will, barely two pages long, won’t take you fifteen minutes to fix up. We’ll take Momma down to the café for breakfast while y’all do it, then we’ll get her to
sign it and be on our way.”
“We ain’t leaving till she signs the new one,” Irma said boldly, as if they might set up camp right there in the conference room.
“Oh yes you are,” Annette said. “Or else I’ll call the sheriff. Samantha, when do you think you can have the will prepared?”
“Wednesday afternoon.”
“Great. Mrs. Crump, we’ll see you then.”
“Come on!” DeLoss said, standing and red-faced. “You got the damned thing in your computer. Just spit it out. Won’t take five minutes and Momma’ll sign it. We can’t wait around here all week. Should’ve left yesterday.”
“I’m asking you to leave now, sir,” Annette said. “And if you want faster service, there are plenty of lawyers up and down Main Street.”
“And real lawyers at that,” Euna Faye said, pushing back from the table. The rest of them slowly got to their feet and helped Francine to the door. As they were leaving the room, Samantha said, “And you do want the new will, Mrs. Crump?”
“Damned right she does,” Jonah said, ready to throw a punch, but Francine did not respond. They left without another word and slammed the door behind them. When it stopped rattling, Annette said, “Don’t prepare the will. Give them time to get out of town, then call Francine and tell her that we will not be a part of this. They have a gun to her head. The whole thing stinks. If she wants a new will, let her pay for one. They can scrape together $200. We’ve wasted enough time.”
“Agreed. We’re going to court?”
“Yes. I got a call last night. Phoebe and Randy Fanning are in jail, got busted Saturday with a truckload of meth. They’re looking at years in the pen.”
“Wow. So much for a quiet Monday. Where are their kids?”
“I don’t know but we need to find out.”
The roundup ensnared seven gang members, though the state police said more arrests were coming. Phoebe sat next to Randy on the front row, along with Tony, who’d been out of prison for only four months and was now headed back for a decade. Next to Tony was one of the thugs who had threatened Samantha weeks earlier during her first trip to court. The other three were from central casting—long, dirty hair, tattoos crawling up their necks, unshaven faces, the red puffy eyes of addicts who’ve been stoned for a long time. One by one they walked to the bench, told His Honor they were not guilty, and sat back down. Annette convinced Richard, the prosecutor, to allow her a private moment with Phoebe. They huddled in a corner with a deputy close by.
She had lost weight since they had last seen her, and her face showed the ravages of meth addiction. Her eyes watered immediately and her first words were “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this.”
Annette showed no sympathy. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not your mother. I’m here because I’m worried about your kids. Where are they?” She was whispering, but forcefully.
“With a friend. Can you get me out of jail?”
“We don’t do criminal law, Phoebe, only civil. The court will appoint another lawyer for you in a few minutes.”
The tears vanished as quickly as they materialized. “What happens to my kids?” she asked.
“Well, if the charges are anywhere near the truth, you and Randy are about to spend several years in prison, separate facilities of course. Do you have a family member who can raise the kids?”
“I don’t think so. No. My family turned their backs. His family is all locked up, except his mother and she’s crazy. I can’t go to prison, you understand. I gotta take care of my kids.” The tears returned and were instantly dripping off her cheeks. She doubled over as if punched in the gut and began shaking. “They can’t take my kids,” she said too loudly, and the judge glanced at them.
Samantha could not help but think, Were you thinking about your kids when you were peddling meth? She handed her a tissue and patted her shoulder.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Annette said. Phoebe returned to the group in orange jumpsuits. Samantha and Annette took a seat across the aisle. Annette whispered, “She’s not technically our client anymore. Our representation ended when we dismissed the divorce.”
“Then why are we here?”
“The Commonwealth will try and terminate parental rights. That’s something we need to monitor, but there’s not much we can do.” They watched and waited for a few minutes as the prosecutor and the judge discussed the matter of bail hearings. Annette read a text message and said, “Oh boy. The FBI is raiding Donovan’s office, and Mattie needs help. Let’s go.”
“The FBI?”
“So you’ve heard of them?” Annette mumbled as she stood and hustled down the aisle.
A wreath was still on the front door of Donovan’s office. The door was wedged open, and just inside Dawn, the secretary, was sitting at her desk, wiping tears. She pointed and said, “In there.” Loud voices were coming from the conference room behind her. Mattie was yelling at someone, and when Annette and Samantha entered they were greeted with “Who the hell are you?”
There were at least four young men in dark suits, all tense and ready to go for their guns. Boxes of files were stacked on the floor; drawers were open; the table was covered in debris. The leader, one Agent Frohmeyer, was doing the barking. Before Annette could respond, he growled again, “Who the hell are you?”
“They’re lawyers and they work with me,” Mattie said. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, and she was obviously agitated. “As I said, I am his aunt and I am the attorney for his estate.”
“And I’ll ask you again: Have you been appointed by the court?” Frohmeyer demanded.
“Not yet. My nephew was buried just last Wednesday. Don’t you have any decency?”
“I have a search warrant, lady, that’s all I care about.”
“I get that. Can you at least allow us to read the search warrant before you start hauling stuff out of here?”
Frohmeyer grabbed the search warrant off the table and thrust it at Mattie. “You got five minutes, lady, that’s all.” The agents left the room. Mattie closed the door and pressed an index finger against her lips. Her message was clear: “Don’t say anything important.”
“What’s going on here?” Annette asked.
“Who knows? Dawn called me in a panic after those goons barged in. Here we are.” She was flipping through the search warrant. She began mumbling, “Any and all records, files, notes, exhibits, reports, summaries, whether on paper, video, audio, electronic, digital, or in any other form, relevant to, pertaining to, or in any way connected to Krull Mining or any of its subsidiaries, and—it goes on to list all forty-one plaintiffs in the Hammer Valley lawsuit.” She flipped a page, skimmed it, flipped another.
Annette said, “Well, if they take the computers, they’ll have access to everything, whether it’s covered in the warrant or not.”
Mattie said, “Yes, everything that’s here.” She winked at Annette and Samantha, then flipped another page. She read some more, mumbled some more, then tossed it on the table and said, “It’s a blank check. They can take everything in the office, whether it’s related to the Hammer Valley litigation or not.”
Frohmeyer rapped on the door as he opened it. “Time’s up, ladies,” he said like a bad actor as the agents reappeared en masse. There were five of them now, all itching for trouble. Frohmeyer said, “Now, if you’ll please get out of the way.”
“Sure,” Mattie said. “But as his executor, I’ll need an inventory of all the stuff you haul out of here.”
“Of course, once you’re appointed.” Two agents were already opening more file cabinets.
“Everything,” Mattie almost yelled.
“Yeah, yeah,” Frohmeyer said, waving her off. “Good day, ladies.”
As the three lawyers walked out of the room, Frohmeyer added, “By the way, we have another unit searching his home right now, just so you know.”
“Great, and what might you be looking for there?”
“You’ll have to read the search warrant.”
They were rattled and suspected someone was watching, so they decided to stay away from the office. They found a back booth at the coffee shop and felt somewhat secure. Mattie, who had not smiled in a week, almost laughed when she said, “They’ll get nothing off the computers. Jeff took out the hard drives last Wednesday, before the funeral.”
Samantha said, “So they’ll be back, looking for the hard drives.”
Mattie shrugged and said, “Who cares? We can’t control what the FBI does.”
Annette said, “So, let me get this straight. Krull Mining believes Donovan somehow got his hands on documents he shouldn’t have, which is probably true. Now that he’s filed the lawsuit, Krull is terrified the documents are about to be exposed. They go to the U.S. Attorney, who opens a case, for theft, I assume, and sends in the goons to find the documents. Now that Donovan is dead, they figure he can’t hide the documents anymore.”
Mattie added, “That’s pretty close. Krull Mining is using the U.S. Attorney to bully the plaintiffs and their lawyers. Threaten a criminal action, and prison, and your opponents quickly throw in the towel. It’s an old trick, and one that works.”
“Another reason to avoid litigation,” Samantha said.
“Are you really the executor of his estate?” Annette asked.
“No, Jeff is. I’m the attorney for the executor and the estate. Donovan updated his will two months ago. He kept his will current. The original has always been in my lockbox at the bank. He left half of his estate to Judy and his daughter, part of it in trust, and the other half he split three ways. One third to Jeff; one third to me; and one third to a group of nonprofits at work here in Appalachia, including the clinic. Jeff and I are going to court Wednesday morning to open probate. Looks like our first job will be to get an inventory from the FBI.”
“Does Judy know she’s not the executor?” Annette asked.
“Yes, we’ve talked several times since the funeral. She’s okay with it. She and I have a good relationship. She and Jeff—that’s another story.”
“Any idea of the size of the estate?”