by John Grisham
“Sustained,” Judge Atlee said rudely. “Mr. Lanier, I’ll ask you to stick to the facts.”
Stung, Lanier rambled on about what these fine doctors had said. They had taken the stand only yesterday. It was not necessary to replay such recent testimony. Wade Lanier was stumbling now, and off his game. For the first time since the opening bell, Jake thought he looked lost. When he couldn’t think of anything, he said, repeatedly, “Seth Hubbard lacked testamentary capacity.”
He brought up the 1987 will, and much to Jake’s delight, and much to the jurors’ dismay, he fleshed it out once more. “Three point one million dollars wasted, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. He described a tax ploy known as the generation-skipping trust, and just when Juror Number Ten, Debbie Lacker, was about to nod off, he said again, “Three point one million dollars wasted, just like that,” and snapped his fingers loudly.
It was a cardinal sin to bore jurors who were pinned down and required to listen, but Wade Lanier was pouring it on. Wisely, though, he did not attack Lettie Lang. Those listening had just learned the truth about her family; it would not be wise to belittle or condemn her.
As Lanier took a painful pause to assess his notes, Judge Atlee said, “You might want to wrap this up, Mr. Lanier. You’re over the time limit.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.” Flustered, he offered a sappy thanks to the jury for their “wonderful service” and concluded with a plea for faithful considerations, free from emotion and guilt.
“Rebuttal, Mr. Brigance?” Judge Atlee asked. Jake was entitled to ten minutes to counter anything Lanier had said. As the lawyer for the proponent, he got the last word, but he wisely declined. “No, Your Honor, I think the jury has heard enough.”
“Very well. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I need to spend a few minutes and instruct you as to what the law is and how it applies in this case, so listen carefully. When I’m finished, you will retire to the jury room and begin your deliberations. Any questions?”
The waiting was always the worst part. A great load was lifted after the jury retired. All the work was finished; all the witnesses had testified; all the worrying about opening statements and closing arguments was over. Now the waiting began. There was no way to predict how long it would take.
Jake invited Wade Lanier and Lester Chilcott to his office for a drink. It was, after all, Friday afternoon and the week was over. They opened beers on the balcony upstairs and watched the courthouse. Jake pointed to a large window in the distance. “That’s the jury room,” he said. “That’s where they are right now.”
Lucien showed up, ready as always for a drink. He and Jake would have words later, but at the moment the mood demanded alcohol. With a laugh, Wade said, “Come on, Lucien, you gotta tell what happened in Juneau.”
Lucien gulped down half a beer, and started talking.
After everyone had either coffee, a soft drink, or water, Nevin Dark called their little meeting to order and said, “I suggest we start with this verdict worksheet that the judge has given us. Any objections to that?”
There were none. There were no guidelines on jury deliberations. Judge Atlee said they could figure things out themselves.
Nevin said, “Okay, here is the first question: Was the document signed by Seth Hubbard a proper holographic will, in that it was (1) written entirely by Seth Hubbard, (2) signed by Seth Hubbard, and (3) dated by Seth Hubbard? Any discussion?”
“Ain’t no doubt about that,” Michele Still said.
The others agreed. The contestants had not argued otherwise.
Nevin continued: “Next, and the big one, testamentary capacity, or sound and disposing mind. The question is, Did Seth Hubbard understand and appreciate the nature and effect of his holographic will? Since this is what the case is all about, I suggest we each take a turn and say what’s on our minds. Who wants to go first?”
Fay Pollan said, “You go first, Nevin. You’re Juror Number One.”
“Okay, here’s what I think. I think it’s wrong to cut out the family and give all the money to another person, especially someone who Seth knew for only three years. But, as Jake said at the beginning, our job is not to decide who should get the money. It’s not our money. Also, I think Seth was slipping in his last days and was pretty doped up, but after seeing Ancil, I have no doubt he knew what he was doing. He’d been planning it for a long time. I’m voting in favor of the will. Tracy?”
Tracy McMillen said quickly, “I agree. So much about this case troubles me, but so much of it I’m not supposed to worry about. We’re suddenly dealing with decades of history, and I don’t think any one of us should tamper with that. Seth did what he did for some very good reasons.”
“Michele?”
“Ya’ll know how I feel. I just wish we weren’t here. I wish Seth had given Lettie some money if he wanted to, then taken care of his family, even if he didn’t like them. Can’t say as I blame him. But I don’t care how bad they are, they don’t deserve nothing.”
“Fay?”
Fay Pollan evoked less sympathy than anyone else in the room, maybe with the exception of Frank Doley. She said, “I’m not too concerned about his family. They’ve probably got more money than most of us, and they’re young and educated. They’ll be fine. They didn’t help Seth make his money, why should they expect all of it? He cut ’em out for a reason, reasons we’ll never know. And his son didn’t even know who played center field for the Braves. My God. We’ve been fans of Dale Murphy for years now. I think he was just lying. Anyway, I’m sure Seth was not a nice person, but, like Jake said, it’s not our business who he gives his money to. He was sick but he wasn’t crazy.”
It was a two-beer deliberation. After the second, a clerk called and said there was a verdict. All laughter ceased immediately as the lawyers shoved gum in their mouths and straightened their ties. They walked into the courtroom together and took their places. Jake turned to the spectators and saw Carla and Hanna seated on the front row behind him. They smiled and Carla mouthed, “Good luck.”
“Are you okay?” Jake whispered as he leaned over to Lettie.
“I’m at peace,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m a wreck,” he said and smiled.
Judge Atlee took the bench and the jurors were brought in. It is impossible for a trial lawyer not to look at the jurors as they return with a verdict, though every trial lawyer vows to ignore them. Jake looked straight at Michele Still, who sat down first, then gave him a quick little grin. Nevin Dark handed the verdict to the clerk who handed it to Judge Atlee. He reviewed it forever, then leaned an inch or two closer to his mike. Enjoying the drama, he said, “The verdict appears to be in order. The jury was to answer five questions. Number one: Did Seth Hubbard execute a valid holographic will on October 1, 1988? By a vote of 12 to 0, the answer is yes. Number two: Did Seth Hubbard understand and appreciate the nature and effect of what he was doing when he executed his holographic will? By a vote of 12 to 0, the answer is yes. Number three: Did Seth Hubbard understand and appreciate who the beneficiaries are to whom he had given gifts in his holographic will? By a vote of 12 to 0, the answer is yes. Number four: Did Seth Hubbard understand and appreciate the nature and amount of his property and how he wanted to dispose of it? By a vote of 12 to 0, the answer is yes. And, number five: Was Seth Hubbard unduly influenced by Lettie Lang or anyone else when he executed his holographic will on October 1, 1988? By a vote of 12 to 0, the answer is no.”
Ramona gasped and began crying. Herschel, who had moved himself to the second row, rose immediately and stormed out of the courtroom. Their children had left the trial the day before.
Judge Atlee thanked the jurors and dismissed them. He adjourned court and disappeared. There were hugs among the victors and long faces among the losers. Wade Lanier was gracious in defeat and congratulated Jake on such a fine job. He spoke kindly to Lettie and wished her the best.
If she was on the verge of being the richest black woman in the state, she did n
ot look it. She just wanted to go home. She ignored a couple of reporters and brushed aside some well-wishers. She was tired of being pawed at and fawned over.
Harry Rex organized a party on the spot, hot dogs on the grill in his backyard and beer in the cooler. Portia said she would be there after she took care of Lettie. Willie Traynor was always ready for a party. Lucien said he would come early, and he might bring Sallie, a rare occurrence. Before they left the courthouse, Lucien was already taking credit for the win.
Jake wanted to choke him.
48
The sermon was the annual call to stewardship, the usual chiding to tithe a bit more, the challenge to step up and give the Lord his 10 percent, and to do so happily. Jake had heard it a hundred times and, as always, found it difficult to maintain prolonged eye contact with the reverend while his mind dwelled on matters far more important. He admired the reverend and labored diligently each Sunday to appear entranced by his homilies, but often it was impossible.
Judge Atlee sat three rows up, at the end by the aisle, the same revered seat he had claimed for at least the last ten years. Jake stared at the back of his head and thought about the trial, and now the appeal. With the verdict so fresh, the case would hit a brick wall. The process would take forever. Ninety days for the court reporter to transcribe hundreds of pages of courtroom proceedings; ninety plus because they seldom delivered on time. Meanwhile, post-trial motions and maneuverings would take months. Once the final record was indeed final, the losers would have ninety days to file their appeal, and more time if necessary. When the Supreme Court, and Jake, received the appeal, he would have his own ninety days to respond. After the deadlines were met and the paperwork was on file with the court, the real waiting began. Typically, there were backlogs, delays, and continuances. The lawyers had learned not to ask what was taking so long. The court was doing the best it could.
The average appeal in a civil case in Mississippi consumed two years. In preparation for the Hubbard trial, Jake had run across a similar case in Georgia that had dragged on for thirteen years. It had been fought before three different juries, went up and down to the Supreme Court like a yo-yo, and was eventually settled when most of the contestants died off and the lawyers had taken all the money. The issue of the attorney’s fees did not bother Jake, but he did worry about Lettie.
Portia had told him her mother had stopped going to church. There were too many sermons about tithing.
If the collective wisdom of Harry Rex and Lucien could be trusted, Jake’s verdict was in trouble. The admission of Ancil’s video was a reversible error. The Fritz Pickering surprise was not as clear-cut, but would probably upset the Supreme Court. The “witness dump” pulled by Wade Lanier would attract a harsh rebuke, but standing alone it would not get the case reversed. Nick Norton agreed. He had watched the trial on Friday and was surprised to see the video. He was deeply moved by its content but bothered by its admissibility. The four lawyers, along with Willie Traynor and other experts, had debated and celebrated over hot dogs and beer until late Friday night while the ladies sipped wine by Harry Rex’s pool and chatted with Portia.
Though the Hubbard case had saved Jake financially, he was ready to move on. He didn’t like the prospect of clipping the estate for a monthly fee for years to come. At some point, he would begin to feel like a leech. He had just won a big trial and was looking for another one.
Not a single person at the First Presbyterian Church mentioned the trial that morning, and Jake was grateful. Afterward, as they mingled under two giant oaks and exchanged pleasantries while inching toward the parking lot, Judge Atlee said hello to Carla and Hanna and commented on such a beautiful spring day. He walked down the sidewalk with Jake, and when no one could hear them, he said, “Could you stop by this afternoon, say around five? There is a matter I’d like to discuss.”
“Sure, Judge,” Jake said.
“And could you bring Portia with you? I’d like her insights.”
“I think so.”
They sat at the dining room table, under a creaking fan that did nothing to cut the heat and stickiness. It was much cooler outside-the porch would have been nice-but for some reason the judge preferred the dining room. He had a pot of coffee and a platter of cheap pastries, store-bought. Jake took one sip of the weak and dreadful coffee, then ignored it.
Portia declined it all. She was nervous and could not control her curiosity. This was not her part of town. Her mother might have seen some nice homes because she cleaned them, but never as a guest.
Judge Atlee sat at the head of the table with Jake to his right and Portia to his left. After a few awkward preliminaries, he announced, as if on the bench and looking down at a pack of anxious lawyers, “I want this case settled. For the next two years, the money will be tied up while the appeal runs its course. Hundreds of hours will be spent. The contestants will make a strong argument that the verdict should be reversed, and I see their point. I admitted the video of Ancil Hubbard because it was the fair thing to do at that moment. The jury, and I suppose all of us, needed to understand the history. It gave meaning to Seth’s motives. It will be argued forcefully that I was wrong procedurally. From a selfish point of view, I prefer not to be reversed, but my feelings are not important.”
Like hell they’re not, Jake thought as he glanced at Portia. She was staring at the table, frozen.
“Let’s suppose for a moment that the case comes back for a retrial. The next time around you will not get blindsided by the Pickering matter. You will be ready for Julina Kidd. And, most important, you will have Ancil here as an interested party and a live witness. Or, if he’s in jail, you will certainly have time to conduct a proper deposition. At any rate, your case is much stronger the next time, Jake. Do you agree?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You’ll win the case because you should win the case. That’s exactly the reason I allowed Ancil’s video. It was the right and fair thing to do. Do you follow me, Portia?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
“So, how do we settle this matter, stop the appeal, and get on with life?” Jake knew he had the answer and really didn’t want much input.
“I’ve thought of nothing else since Friday afternoon,” the judge continued. “Seth’s will was a desperate, last-minute attempt to correct a horrible injustice. By leaving so much to your mother, he was in reality trying to make amends to your great-grandfather and to all the Rinds families. Do you agree?”
Agree, damn it, Portia, agree. Jake had been here a hundred times. When he asks, “Do you agree?” he’s already assuming that you agree enthusiastically.
“Yes sir,” she said.
He took a sip of coffee, and Jake wondered if he drank the same wretched brew every morning. Judge Atlee said, “I’m wondering, Portia, at this point, what does your mother really want? It would be helpful to know that. I’m sure she’s told you. Can you share this with us?”
“Sure, Judge. My mother doesn’t want a lot, and she has reservations about getting all that money. For lack of a better term, it’s white folks’ money. It doesn’t really belong to us. My mom would like to have the land, the eighty acres, and she’d like to build a house on it, a nice house but not a mansion. She’s seen some nice houses but she’s always known she’d never have one. Now, for the first time in her life, she can dream of having a beautiful home, one she can clean for herself. She wants plenty of room for her kids and grandkids. She’ll never marry again, although there are a few buzzards circling. She wants to get away and to live way out there in the country where it’s peaceful and nobody will bother her. She didn’t go to church this morning, Judge, she hasn’t been in a month. Everybody’s got their hand out. My mother just wants to be left alone.”
“Surely she wants more than a house and eighty acres,” Jake said.
“Well, who doesn’t want some money in the bank? She’s tired of cleaning houses.”
“How much money?” Judge Atlee asked.
“We didn’
t get that far. In the past six months, she’s never sat around and thought, ‘Okay, I’ll take five million and I’ll give each kid one million and so on.’ That’s not my mother, okay? She doesn’t think in those terms. It’s just so far beyond her.” She paused for a second, then asked, “How would you divide the money, Judge?”
“I’m glad you asked. Here’s my plan. The bulk of the money should go into a fund for the benefit of your blood relatives, not a cash giveaway that would turn into a feeding frenzy, but a foundation of sorts that would be used solely for education. Who knows how many Rindses are out there, though I’m sure we would quickly find out. The foundation would be tightly controlled by a trustee who would report to me. The money would be invested wisely and spread over, say, twenty years, and during that time it would be used to help as many students as possible. It must be limited to a sole purpose, and education is the most likely. If it’s not limited, then there would be a thousand requests for everything from health care to groceries to housing to new cars. The money is not guaranteed, but must be earned. A blood relative who studies hard and gets admitted to college will qualify for funding.”
“How would you split the money?” Jake asked. Portia was smiling.
“In broad strokes, I suggest this: Let’s work with the figure of twelve million. We know that’s a moving target but it’ll be close. Fund the bequests to Ancil and the church at half a million each. Down to eleven. Take five million of that and place it in the trust fund I just described. That’s a lot of tuition, but then we can anticipate a lot of kinfolks, both old and new.”