by John Grisham
The Firm, The Appeal, and The Chamber are works of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Dell eBook Edition
The Firm copyright © 1991 by John Grisham
The Appeal copyright © 2008 by Belfry Holdings, Inc.
The Chamber copyright © 1994 by John Grisham
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
The novels contained in this omnibus were each published separately by Dell, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1991, 2008, and 1994.
Cover design: Carlos Beltrán
The Firm cover photograph: Plush Studios/Getty Images
The Chamber cover photograph: Catherine Ghem/Picture Quest
eISBN: 978-0-345-53662-4
www.bantamdell.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
The Firm
The Appeal
The Chamber
Books by John Grisham
About the Author
“SAVVY, CRISP PORTRAITS OF LAWYERS ON THE MAKE … WELL-PACED … HARROWING … Grisham’s villains shine, mainly because he has given them dimension and intelligence.… And McDeere is a likable straight arrow who … throws just enough back at his bosses to put us on his side.… Grisham knows his lawyers and hands them their just deserts.”
—Chicago Tribune
* * *
JOHN GRISHAM
______
THE FIRM
* * *
“ENSNARES THE READER … has the distinct merit of holding up as a thriller for the long haul.”
—The Washington Post Book World
“The accelerating tempo of paranoia-driven events is WONDERFUL: clandestine meetings, predawn prowlings, a dangerous pursuit … leading to the fine ironic finish.”
—Los Angeles Times
“DYNAMITE!”
—Upfront: Advance Reviews
“Hallucinatory entertainment … TERRIFICALLY EXCITING … GRIPS AND PROPELS.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“TRULY EXCEPTIONAL … like a cross between Scott Turow and Mario Puzo, Grisham not only sets up his story well, he sees it through all the way to an unpredictable end.”
—Book Talk
“My boyfriend stood on his head and performed other tricks designed to get my attention, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the last chapter of The Firm long enough to notice. when I was finally done, he grabbed the book and disappeared for hours. a rare accord … NAIL-BITING SUSPENSE … terrific characterizations … Mitch and Abby, two entirely believable folks, [are] among the most likable in recent fiction.”
—Louise Bernikow, Cosmopolitan
“A WINNER … positioned to fly off the bookshelves … Grisham, a criminal defense lawyer, has an eye for the details of his profession. wherever his plot goes, the novel carries the authenticity of someone who has been there and was paying attention.”
—The Commercial Appeal (Memphis)
“A MEAN-AND-LEAN PAGE-TURNER … Grisham writes without fat: his dialogue crackles.”
—New Woman
“Gripping … unusual and absorbing … READERS WILL BE TOTALLY HOOKED.… Grisham, a criminal defense attorney, describes law office procedures at the highest levels, smoothly meshing them with the criminal events of the narrative.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Firm is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by John Grisham
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Dell,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DELL is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.,
and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-307-57614-9
www.bantamdell.com
Cover design: Carlos Beltran.
Cover photograph: Plush Studios/Getty Images
v3.0_r1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Copyright
1
The senior partner studied the résumé for the hundredth time and again found nothing he disliked about Mitchell Y. McDeere, at least not on paper. He had the brains, the ambition, the good looks. And he was hungry; with his background, he had to be. He was married, and that was mandatory. The firm had never hired an unmarried lawyer, and it frowned heavily on divorce, as well as womanizing and drinking. Drug testing was in the contract. He had a degree in accounting, passed the CPA exam the first time he took it and wanted to be a tax lawyer, which of course was a requirement with a tax firm. He was white, and the firm had never hired a black. They managed this by being secretive and clubbish and never soliciting job applications. Other firms solicited, and hired blacks. This firm recruited, and remained lily white. Plus, the firm was in Memphis, of all places, and the top blacks wanted New York or Washington or Chicago. McDeere was a male, and there were no women in the firm. That mistake had been made in the mid-seventies when they recruited the number one grad from Harvard, who happened to be a she and a wizard at taxation. She lasted four turbulent years and was killed in a car wreck.
He looked good, on paper. He was their top choice. In fact, for this year there were no other prospects. The list was very short. It was McDeere or no one.
The managing partner, Royce McKnight, studied a dossier labeled “Mitchell Y. McDeere—Harvard.” An inch thick with small print and a few photographs, it had been prepared by some ex-CIA agents in a private intelligence outfit in Bethesda. They were clients of the firm and each year did the investigating for no fee. It was easy work, they said, checking out unsuspecting law students. They learned, for instance, that he preferred to leave the Northeast, that he was holding three job offers, two in New York and one in Chicago, and that the highest offer was $76,000 and the lowest was $68,000. He was in demand. He had been given the opportunity to cheat on a securities exam during his second year. He declined, and made the highest grade in the class. Two mon
ths ago he had been offered cocaine at a law school party. He said no and left when everyone began snorting. He drank an occasional beer, but drinking was expensive and he had no money. He owed close to $23,000 in student loans. He was hungry.
Royce McKnight flipped through the dossier and smiled. McDeere was their man.
Lamar Quin was thirty-two and not yet a partner. He had been brought along to look young and act young and project a youthful image for Bendini, Lambert & Locke, which in fact was a young firm, since most of the partners retired in their late forties or early fifties with money to burn. He would make partner in this firm. With a six-figure income guaranteed for the rest of his life, Lamar could enjoy the twelve-hundred-dollar tailored suits that hung so comfortably from his tall, athletic frame. He strolled nonchalantly across the thousand-dollar-a-day suite and poured another cup of decaf. He checked his watch. He glanced at the two partners sitting at the small conference table near the windows.
Precisely at two-thirty someone knocked on the door. Lamar looked at the partners, who slid the résumé and dossier into an open briefcase. All three reached for their jackets. Lamar buttoned his top button and opened the door.
“Mitchell McDeere?” he asked with a huge smile and a hand thrust forward.
“Yes.” They shook hands violently.
“Nice to meet you, Mitchell. I’m Lamar Quin.”
“My pleasure. Please call me Mitch.” He stepped inside and quickly surveyed the spacious room.
“Sure, Mitch.” Lamar grabbed his shoulder and led him across the suite, where the partners introduced themselves. They were exceedingly warm and cordial. They offered him coffee, then water. They sat around a shiny mahogany conference table and exchanged pleasantries. McDeere unbuttoned his coat and crossed his legs. He was now a seasoned veteran in the search of employment, and he knew they wanted him. He relaxed. With three job offers from three of the most prestigious firms in the country, he did not need this interview, this firm. He could afford to be a little overconfident now. He was there out of curiosity. And he longed for warmer weather.
Oliver Lambert, the senior partner, leaned forward on his elbows and took control of the preliminary chitchat. He was glib and engaging with a mellow, almost professional baritone. At sixty-one, he was the grandfather of the firm and spent most of his time administering and balancing the enormous egos of some of the richest lawyers in the country. He was the counselor, the one the younger associates went to with their troubles. Mr. Lambert also handled the recruiting, and it was his mission to sign Mitchell Y. McDeere.
“Are you tired of interviewing?” asked Oliver Lambert.
“Not really. It’s part of it.”
Yes, yes, they all agreed. Seemed like yesterday they were interviewing and submitting résumés and scared to death they wouldn’t find a job and three years of sweat and torture would be down the drain. They knew what he was going through, all right.
“May I ask a question?” Mitch asked.
“Certainly.”
“Sure.”
“Anything.”
“Why are we interviewing in this hotel room? The other firms interview on campus through the placement office.”
“Good question.” They all nodded and looked at each other and agreed it was a good question.
“Perhaps I can answer that, Mitch,” said Royce McKnight, the managing partner. “You must understand our firm. We are different, and we take pride in that. We have forty-one lawyers, so we are small compared with other firms. We don’t hire too many people; about one every other year. We offer the highest salary and fringes in the country, and I’m not exaggerating. So we are very selective. We selected you. The letter you received last month was sent after we screened over two thousand third-year law students at the best schools. Only one letter was sent. We don’t advertise openings and we don’t solicit applications. We keep a low profile, and we do things differently. That’s our explanation.”
“Fair enough. What kind of firm is it?”
“Tax. Some securities, real estate and banking, but eighty percent is tax work. That’s why we wanted to meet you, Mitch. You have an incredibly strong tax background.”
“Why’d you go to Western Kentucky?” asked Oliver Lambert.
“Simple. They offered me a full scholarship to play football. Had it not been for that, college would’ve been impossible.”
“Tell us about your family.”
“Why is that important?”
“It’s very important to us, Mitch,” Royce McKnight said warmly.
They all say that, thought McDeere. “Okay, my father was killed in the coal mines when I was seven years old. My mother remarried and lives in Florida. I had two brothers. Rusty was killed in Vietnam. I have a brother named Ray McDeere.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m afraid that’s none of your business.” He stared at Royce McKnight and exposed a mammoth chip on his shoulder. The dossier said little about Ray.
“I’m sorry,” the managing partner said softly.
“Mitch, our firm is in Memphis,” Lamar said. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. I’m not fond of cold weather.”
“Have you ever been to Memphis?”
“No.”
“We’ll have you down soon. You’ll love it.”
Mitch smiled and nodded and played along. Were these guys serious? How could he consider such a small firm in such a small town when Wall Street was waiting?
“How are you ranked in your class?” Mr. Lambert asked.
“Top five.” Not top five percent, but top five. That was enough of an answer for all of them. Top five out of three hundred. He could have said number three, a fraction away from number two, and within striking distance of number one. But he didn’t. They came from inferior schools—Chicago, Columbia and Vanderbilt, as he recalled from a cursory examination of Martindale-Hubbell’s Legal Directory. He knew they would not dwell on academics.
“Why did you select Harvard?”
“Actually, Harvard selected me. I applied at several schools and was accepted everywhere. Harvard offered more financial assistance. I thought it was the best school. Still do.”
“You’ve done quite well here, Mitch,” Mr. Lambert said, admiring the résumé. The dossier was in the briefcase, under the table.
“Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”
“You made extremely high grades in your tax and securities courses.”
“That’s where my interest lies.”
“We’ve reviewed your writing sample, and it’s quite impressive.”
“Thank you. I enjoy research.”
They nodded and acknowledged this obvious lie. It was part of the ritual. No law student or lawyer in his right mind enjoyed research, yet, without fail, every prospective associate professed a deep love for the library.
“Tell us about your wife,” Royce McKnight said, almost meekly. They braced for another reprimand. But it was a standard, nonsacred area explored by every firm.
“Her name is Abby. She has a degree in elementary education from Western Kentucky. We graduated one week and got married the next. For the past three years she’s taught at a private kindergarten near Boston College.”
“And is the marriage—”
“We’re very happy. We’ve known each other since high school.”
“What position did you play?” asked Lamar, in the direction of less sensitive matters.
“Quarterback. I was heavily recruited until I messed up a knee in my last high school game. Everyone disappeared except Western Kentucky. I played off and on for four years, even started some as a junior, but the knee would never hold up.”
“How’d you make straight A’s and play football?”
“I put the books first.”
“I don’t imagine Western Kentucky is much of an academic school,” Lamar blurted with a stupid grin, and immediately wished he could take it back. Lambert and McKnight frowned and acknowledged the mistake.
“Sort of like Kansas State,” Mitch replied. They froze, all of them froze, and for a few seconds stared incredulously at each other. This guy McDeere knew Lamar Quin went to Kansas State. He had never met Lamar Quin and had no idea who would appear on behalf of the firm and conduct the interview. Yet, he knew. He had gone to Martindale-Hubbell’s and checked them out. He had read the biographical sketches of all of the forty-one lawyers in the firm, and in a split second he had recalled that Lamar Quin, just one of the forty-one, had gone to Kansas State. Damn, they were impressed.
“I guess that came out wrong,” Lamar apologized.
“No problem.” Mitch smiled warmly. It was forgotten.
Oliver Lambert cleared his throat and decided to get personal again. “Mitch, our firm frowns on drinking and chasing women. We’re not a bunch of Holy Rollers, but we put business ahead of everything. We keep low profiles and we work very hard. And we make plenty of money.”
“I can live with all that.”
“We reserve the right to test any member of the firm for drug use.”
“I don’t use drugs.”
“Good. What’s your religious affiliation?”
“Methodist.”
“Good. You’ll find a wide variety in our firm. Catholics, Baptists, Episcopalians. It’s really none of our business, but we like to know. We want stable families. Happy lawyers are productive lawyers. That’s why we ask these questions.”
Mitch smiled and nodded. He’d heard this before.
The three looked at each other, then at Mitch. This meant they had reached the point in the interview where the interviewee was supposed to ask one or two intelligent questions. Mitch recrossed his legs. Money, that was the big question, particularly how it compared to his other offers. If it isn’t enough, thought Mitch, then it was nice to meet you fellas. If the pay is attractive, then we can discuss families and marriages and football and churches. But, he knew, like all the other firms they had to shadowbox around the issue until things got awkward and it was apparent they had discussed everything in the world but money. So, hit them with a soft question first.